WILLIAM    FRANCIS    BARNARD 


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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALBCTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


PS3503 
•A$850 
T6 
1913 


va  « 


This  BOOK  may  be  kept  out  TWO  WEEKS 
ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine  of  FIVE 
CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  is  DUE  on  the 
DAY  indicated  below: 


THE  TONGUES  OF  TOIL 


0 


K5  J>3  "J 

THE  TONGUES  OF  TOIL 


AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 


WILLIAM  FRANCIS  BARNARD 


SECOND    EDITION 

THE    WORKERS*    ART    PRESS 

CHICAGO 

1913 


Copyright,  1910 
By  WILLIAM  FRANCIS  BARNARD 


FOREWORD 

TpHE  author  of  this  volume  has  long  treas- 
ured in  intent  the  creation  of  a  body  of 
verse  which  should  set  forth,  however  imper- 
fectly, the  spirit  of  the  great  cause  of  labor. 
Certain  writings  of  William  Morris,  poet  and 
craftsman,  and  the  utterances  of  Tolstoy  re- 
specting the  relations  of  art  to  a  common  hu- 
manity, have  helped  to  point  the  way,  and  now, 
at  length,  the  fruits  of  his  toil' are  gathered  to- 
gether in  these  pages. 

He  cannot  allow  these  poems  to  leave  his 
hands,  however,  without  bearing  testimony  to 
the  truth,  that  the  cause  of  labor,  which  is  but 
the  cause  of  humanity  at  large,  is  more  inspir- 
ing to  him,  and  more  fruitful  of  results  than  any 
other  source  of  creative  effort  has  been.  The  red 
blood  of  a  united  race  courses  through  his  veins, 
and  thrills  him  who  sings  the  songs  of  toil,  and 
takes  a  pleasure  in  the  singing. 

The  volume  includes  a  few  poems  from  the 
author's  earlier  book,  "The  Moods  of  Life". 
These  are  added  because  they  are  in  peculiar 
harmony  with  the  spirit  of  these  pages,  and 
because  the  volume  in  which  they  originally 
appeared  was  issued  in  a  limited  edition. 

(This  is  the  second  edition  of  this  book.) 


B  SZL 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Tongues  of  Toil         .  •       .         .         .  13 

Francisco  Ferrer      ......  16 

The  Hangman     .......  19 

Joy  and  Labor         ......  22 

To  A.  M.  B 23 

A  Rhapsody 26 

Progress     .  f .         .         .         .         .         .29 

Labor's  Prayer  to  Woman       .         .         .         .  32 

Margareta  Martenez 33 

The  Revelation       ......  40 

Labor's  Answer           ......  41 

Hope  and  Effort     ......  43 

"Until  You  Are  Born"       .....  44 

The  Defense  of  the  Rag  Doll       ...  47 

A  Vision 49 

Love  and  Hate          ......  50 

The  Meeting  of  the  Winds         ....  52 

Two  Powers     ......           .  54 

The  Dead  Financier             .....  57 

A  Judgment       .......  58 

The  Children  of  the  Looms         ....  59 


IX. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Slow,  Slow      .......  62 

The  Newer  Hemlock           .....  64 

The  Guillotine       ......  65 

Failure        ........  69 

The  Death  of  a  Toiler  .          .          .          .          .  y\ 

No  Bondage  for  Me     ......  75 

Mary  Wollstonecraft     .....  76 

Sacrament  .         .         .         .         ...         -77 

Music       ........  79 

Ardors          ........  80 

The  Thief  of  Time         .....  81 

On  an  Infant  Buried  in  Winter         .  .  .  •     83 

Max's    Friend           ......  84 

To  a   Robin         .          .          .....  86 

Looking  on  the  Sierras            ....  88 

The  Girl  of  the  Rose         .....  89 

1 1  v.m  n  of  Labor         ......  90 

To  the  Masters           .          .          .                   .          .  qt 


I  mi    Roistering    Knights         ....  94 


"So   Cold!"  .......       97 

The  Voiceless  Lyre  .....  99 

To  Fausta  .......      TOO 

Rose  and  Lily  .         .         .  .         .         iot 

Invocation  .         .         .         .         .         .         .102 

A  Warning       ....... 


TO 


In  a  City  Graveyard  .  .  .  .  .107 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Courage,  My  Heart 

"3 

Warrior  Truth           .... 

•      115 

Labor's  Tragedy       .... 

117 

To   My   Country         .... 

.      118 

What  Shall  It  Profit  a  Man? 

119 

A  Caged  Bird's  Song                '  . 

.     122 

The   Baby's    Smile 

123 

Place  de  la   Concorde 

.      124 

To  the  Enemies  of  Free  Speech 

127 

The  Red  Flag     ..... 

.     128 

In  the  Hour  of  Execution     . 

132 

The  Abandoned  Mill 

•     134 

Ibsen        ...... 

143 

A  Desire     ...... 

•      M4 

To  the  Cold     ..... 

146 

The  Agitator      ..... 

•      T47 

The  Challenge  of  Liberty     .    . 

150 

His  First  Snow           .... 

•      LSI 

Magdalene  Passes  .... 

[52 

Plutus  and  Demos      .... 

•      157 

In   Renunciation     .... 

158 

The  Modern  Tyrant  .... 

•     159 

The  Ruler 

t6o 

Friendship           ..... 

.     161 

To  Certain  Writers 

•         163 

Announcement         .... 

.         165 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Compensation 167 

The  Last  Word r68 

Martyrdom       .......  171 

November  Violets        ......  173 

Strike 174 

A  Day  of  Reckoning  .....  177 

Wind  of  the  Dawn         .....  178 

The  Bells 180 

The  Rooks 182 

Greatness  .......  184 

Waiting  .......  185 

The  Promise       .         .    t     .         .         .         .         .188 

The  Unspoken         ......  189 

Humanhood         .......  100 

Comrades  .......  191 


XII. 


THE  TONGUES  OF  TOIL 

IJO  you  hear  us  call  from  a  hundred  lands, 

Lords  of  a  dying  name? 
We  are  the  men  of  the  sinewed  hands 

Whom  the  earth  and  the  seas  acclaim     . 
We  are  the  hordes  who  have  made  you  lords, 

And  gathered  your  gear  and  spoil ;  ; 
And  we  speak  with  a  word  that  shall  be  heard : 

Hark  to  the  tongues  of  toil ! 

The  power  of  your  hands  it  falls  at  last, 
The  strength  of  your  rule  is  o'er. 

Where  the  might  of  a  million  slaves  is  massed 
To  the  shouts  of  a  million  more. 

We  rise,  we  rise,  'neath  the  western  skies, 
And  the  dawns  of  the  east  afar ; 

And    our    myriads    swarm    in   the   southlands 
warm, 

And  under  the  northern  star! 


13 


THE  TONGUES  OF  TOIL 

We  take  no  thought  of  the  fears  you  feel, 

Nor  the  rage  you  hold  at  heart, 
Nor  of  all  your  strength  of  the  gold  and  steel 

Enthroned  at  the  gates  of  the  mart. 
We  have  no  care  for  the  deeds  you  dare, 

For  the  force  of  your  armies  hurled; 
You  stand  but  few,  and  we  challenge  you ; 

Strong  men  of  all  the  world ! 

We  served  as  your  fools  when  time  was  young, 

And  long,  long,  we  forbore, 
Glad  of  the  niggard  boons  you  flung, 

The  least  of  your  ample  store; 
But  the  gnawing  pain  of  a  starving  brain 

Ts  great  as  the  belly  need; 
We  have  learned  at  last  from  a  hungry  past 

The  joys  of  a  rebel  deed  ! 

We  come,  we  come,  with  the  force  of  fate; 

We  are  not  weak,  but  strong. 
We  parley  not,  and  we  cannot  wait ; 

We  march  with  a  freeman's  song. 
We  claim  for  meed  what  a  life  can  need 

That  lives  as  a  life  should  live ; 
Not  less,  not  more,  from  the  plenteous  store 

Which  fr^ee-born  labors  give ! 


14 


THE  TONGUES  OF  TOIL 

We  will  shape  a  world  as  a  world  should  be, 

With  room  and  enough  for  all; 
We  will  rear  a  race  of  the  wise  and  free, 

And  not  of  the  great  and  small. 
And  the  heart  and  the  mind  of  humankind 

Shall  drink  to  the  dregs  of  good, 
Forgetting  the  tears  of  the  darker  years, 

And  the  curse  of  a  bondman's  blood ! 

In  vain  you  soften  the  voice  of  greed ; 

In  vain  you  speak  us  fair; 
The  time  is  late,  and  we  hark  nor  heed  ; 

In  gladness  still  we  dare. 
Yield,  then,  yield,  to  the  force  Ave  wrield, 

To  the  masses  of  our  might ; 
We  are  countless  strong  at  the  throat  of  wrong, 

The  warriors  of  the  right ! 

Yes,  we  are  the  captains  of  the  earth 

And  the  wrarders  of  the  sea; 
Of  a  race  new  born  in  nobler  birth, 

The  mighty  and  the  free ! 
We  clasp  all  hands,  to  the  farthest  lands ; 

We  swear  by  our  mother  soil, 
To  take  the  meed  who  have  done  the  deed ! 

Hark  to  the  tongues  of  toil ! 


15 


FRANCISCO  FERRER 

\J  NCE  more  time  writes  the  truth  in  blood. 

in  reddest  blood,  that  all  may  see; 
Once  more  life  gives  her  best  to  death  to  pay 

the  price  which  sets  men  free. 
Once    more    the    silent    martyr's    voice    speaks 

louder  than  the  thunder  can, 
And  echoes  round  and  round  the  world,  and 

thrills  the  heart  of  every  man. 

Yes,  Socrates  accepts  again  the  hemlock  in  his 

dungeon  there, 
And  Jesus,  crowned  by  Roman  thorns,  writhes 

on  his  cross  raised  high  in  air; 
Fire  meets  a  heart  more  hot  than  fire  where 

Bruno's  ashes  crumble  down, 
And  hangman's  gallows  choke  the  breath,  but 

not  the  love,  of  brave  John  Brown. 

16 


FRANCISCO  FERRER 

"Let  man  see  clear,  and  that  he  may,  let  all 

our  children  have  the  light !" 
This  was  the  message  Ferrer  spoke,  his  word 

in  superstitition's  night. 
Is  this  the  thing  for  which  you  killed;  is  this 

the  crime  he  did,  and  died; 
Are  such,  are  such  black  deeds  of  wrong,  to 

which  e'en  mercy  is  denied ! 

You  tyrants,  trembling  while  you  slay,  see 
time's  handwriting  on  the  wall; 

Look  on  the  words,  and  know  they  tell  that 
kings  and  all  their  strength  shall  fall. 

Each  stifled  voice,  it  sounds  your  doom,  each 
.shackled  wrist  shakes  all  your  power; 

Each  martyr  drags  you  to  the  dust.  There 
comes  the  people's  triumph  hour. 

And  you,  black  priests,  who  wear  love's  mask, 

and  if  men  doubt  you,  curse,  and  kill, 
Know  this:  although  your  victims  bleed,  their 

memories  are  potent  still. 
Cringe  at  your  altars;  be  afraid;  beg  heaven 

for  its  avenging  rod  ; 
The  time  is  nigh  which  ends  your  power,  which 

breaks  you,  as  it  breaks  your  god ! 


17 


FRANCISCO  FERRER 

Come,  little  children,  like  the  flowers;  yon  in- 
nocents he  loved  to  love; 

Who  filled  his  soul  with  happy  dreams,  the 
dreams  he  gave  his  days  to  prove. 

Hark  to  his  story  o'er  and  o'er,  while  tender 
eyes  with  tears  are  wet ; — 

A  tribute  of  the  love  you  bear,  your  promise 
never  to  forget. 

And   we,   the    sires,  the    sons   of   men,   whose 

children's  children  yet  shall  live, 
Who  here  would  bring  him   worthiest  praise, 

and  all  of  honor  gladly  give, 
Would  mark  our  foreheads  with  his  blood,  and 

all  his  sacred  wounds  would  kiss — 
May  we  be  equal  to  his  faith,  and  worthy  of 

the  sacrifice ! 

They  rise   in   myriads  at  his  name,  to  (\o  the 

work  his  faith  began  ; 
Ten  thousand  stand  where  Ferrer  fell,  to  speed 

the  cause  of  struggling  man. 
Or   live,   or   die    in    anguish    keen,   or   madden 

'neath  the  prison  stone. 
They  cease  not  from  the  battle  here,  till  truth's 

last  torturer  lies.,  o'erthrowm  ! 


18 


THE  HANGMAN 

I  HE  hangman's  hands  are  dyed  with  blood, 

And  all  they  touch  or  hold 
Is  stained  and  streaked  with  a  clotted  flood, 

E'en  to  his  bloody  gold ;  • 
The  coins  that  are  paid  for  human  breath 
And  the  lives  which  he  has  sold. 

In  scarlet  hue  stand  old  and  new, 
His  clothes,  his  board,  his  bed; 

There  is  blood  in  the  cup  that  he  lifts  up, 
And  crimson  is  his  bread ; 

And  e'en  his  floors  and  walls  and  doors 
Are  marked  with  gory  red. 

The  hangman's  face  is  dull  and  grey, 

And  soulless  are  his  eyes; 
That  he  may  live  from  day  Jo  day, 

Some  fellow-being  dies. 
The  tears  of  the  young  are  naught  to  him, 

Nor  age's  stifled  cries. 


19 


THE  HANGMAN 

He  does  not  know  the  sob  of  woe ; 

Black  fear  he  does  not  feel ; 
Hardly  a  word  from  his  lips  is  heard, 

And  his  ears  heed  no  appeal. 
His  cruel  chin  reveals  within 

A  nature  hard  as  steel. 

The  hangman's  thoughts  are  not  of  love, 

Nor  are  they  yet  of  hate ; 
They  do  not  lift  themselves  above 

The  dungeon's  iron  grate. 
Their  interests  are  the  knotted  rope 

And  the  heavy  gallows  weight. 

His  mind  is  filled  with  the  counted  killed 
And  the  hope  of  more  to  come, 

And  the  price  they  fling  when  men  must  swing, 
Which  makes  a  goodly  sum ; 

For  his  reason  waits  on  the  law's  black  hates, 
And,  save  for  this,  stands  dumb. 

The  hangman's  soul  lies  stiff  and  stark, 

The  hangman's  heart  is  dead  ; 
And  the  need  of  friends  is  a  burnt-out  spark 

From  which  the  flame  has  fled; 
For  he  is  marked  with  murder's  mark, 

And  with  blood  upon  his  head. 


20 


THE  HANGMAN 

In  times  of  rest  he  knows  no  guest: 
Xo  hand  will  touch  him,  none ! 

Nor  woman  mild  nor  happy  child 
Greets  him  when  day  is  done ; 

And  he  walks  the  night,  a  poison  blight, 
An  outcast  of  the  sun  ! 


21 


JOY  AND  LABOR 

PHE  joy  of  labor,  and  the  joy  of  song. 

Delight  of  pleasure,  and  delight  of  rest, 
And    happy    peace,   the    heart's    full    welcome 

guest, 
All   these   are    one,   like    friends    in    gladsome 

throng. 
Nay,    toiling    brain    and    hands    with    sinews 

strong. 
Hot  sweating  brows,  and  heavy  heaving  breast, 
'Tis  unto  work  that  nature  yield's  her  best; 
Why  do  you,  then,  cry  out  upon  a  wrong? 

An  answer  comes  from  countless  sons  of  toil, 
Borne  as  on  mighty  winds  from  everywhere, 
"Yes,  work  were  sweet,  if  we  might  glean  the 

soil, 
And  own  the  things  we  fashion  with  our  care ; 
But  masters  take  our  substance  for  their  spoil : 
We   are   but   slaves;   the   curse   of   work   lies 

there !" 


22 


TO  A.  M.  B. 


J\   LABOR  of  love  you  have  given 

Through  the  long  stretch  of  the  years ; 

And  cherished  and  trusted  and  striven. 
Nor  yielded  to  shadowy  fears, 
But  smiled   when   your  thoughts  were  of 
tears. 


The  gladdest  when  hope  walked  before  me, 
All  constant  when  doubt  dogged  my  feet, 

My  comrade  when  effort  outwore  me. 

Amidst  life's  harsh  stress  and  its  heat ; 
How  shall  I  your  praises  repeat? 

Sage  in  your  youth  with  your  learning, 
Full  wise  in  your  womanhood  still ; 
Ever  a  prophetess,  yearning 

For    worlds    which    high    dreams    should 

fulfill, 
You  have  burned  in  your  heart  and  your 
will. 


TO  A.  M.  B. 

Spirit  all  staunch  and  heroic, 

O'erflowing  with  faith  in  mankind, 

You  have  borne  with  the  will  of  a  stoic 

The  pangs  which  true  service  must  find, 
And  still  kept  serene  in  your  mind. 

And  with  that  high  trust  born  of  woman, 
Her  soul's  most  miraculous  part, 

That  greatest  of  glories  most  human, 

You   have   poured   out  the   wine   of  your 

heart. 
And  strengthened  e'en  me  for  my  part. 

Though  the  years  have  brought  sweet  with  the 
bitter, 
And    the    tares    have    not    filled    up    the 
sheaves, 
I  have  thought  that  your  days  had  been  fitter 
With  more  flowers  of  life  mid  the  leaves, 
And  with  less  of  the  fate  that  bereaves. 

Has  the  labor  been  worthy  the  doing? 

No  happier  boons  did  you  miss? 
Is  there  no  reason  for  rueing? 

Have  I  been  worthy  of  this? 

Is  it  triumph,  and  not  sacrifice? 


24 


TO  A.  M.  B. 

Because  naught  of  praise  can  requite  you, 
Though  all  splendor  of  praise  I  afford, 

The  fruits  of  my  years  must  delight  you 
And  be  your  sole  gift  and  reward. 
My  harvest  of  song  I  accord. 

Take  this,  and  let  all  be  a  token 

Of  a  love  which  still  lasts  and  allures ; 

I  give  to  your  trust  still  unbroken 

Each  song,  though  it  dies  or  endures ; 
For  myself  and  my  songs  all  are  yours. 

Take  these,  with  my  memories  tender; 

Take     these,     with     hope's     star-scattered 
beams. 

Take  all,  with  the  visions  of  splendor 

That  shine  from  the  future  in  gleams — 
My  highest,  my  holiest  dreams. 


25 


A    RHAPSODY. 

f\  RIOT  of  violets  under  the  trees. 

With  cool  curving  branches  above  them  : 
Wild  apple  blossoms  and  cavalier  bees 

To  daunt  them  and  dazzle  and  love  them  ; 
Winged  clouds   in  the  sky  and  the  sun  on  the 
grass ; 
White  birches  poised  over  the  river. 
Which   here   is   all   smooth   like   a   shadowing 
glass, 
And  there,  is  all  ripples,  aquiver ; 
Soft  wind  making  waves  on  the  wheat  as  it 
goes; 
A  bird  in  a  tree  top,  aswinging, 
Too  glad  to  find  voice  till  its  heart  overflows 
And  floods  in  a  torrent  of  singing 

What  wonder  that  two  'neath  the  spell  of  it  ali, 
And  wrought  with  the  wine  of  June  weather. 

Must  rapture  at  heart  till  they  tremble  in  hand 
With  the  passion  which  draws  them  to- 
gether ! 


26 


A    RHAPSODY. 

What  wonder  that   eyes  falter  low  and  then 
rise 
In  quest  of  the  truth  in  those  faces. 
Ere    they    strain    breast    to    breast,    and   then 
shudder  apart 
From  the  sting  of  the  sweet  of  embraces ! 
What  wonder  that  these,  who  wend  forth  to 
the  streams 
And  the  hills  and  the  green  forest  covers. 
Blushing  maiden  and  youth,  should  move  as  in 
dreams, 
Till  they  kiss,  and  know  well  they  are  lovers ! 

Forget,    yes,    forget    all    the    world     with    its 
wrongs. 
Young  hearts  in  your  ecstasies  splendid, 
And  suit  your  warm  lips  to  the  happier  songs 

Which  sound  as  all  sorrow  were  ended  ! 
There   is   labor  enough  on  the   steeps   of  the 
years ; 
There  is  time  and  to  spare  for  reflection ; 
Taste,  taste  of  your  joy   ere  time  loosen  your 
tears, 
And  know  one  full  day  of  perfection! 


27 


A    RHAPSODY. 

Here,    while    rich  gifts    of  the    summer    have 

birth, 

Let  sound  the  first  strains  of  love's  story. 

Sweet  dreaming   world,   be    praised   for   your 

worth, 

And  this,  that  completes  all  your  glory! 


28 


PROGRESS 

\\/lDE  through  the  unknown  world, 

Where  moved  the  primal  man 
In  leash  of  all  his  lusts, 

His  life  without  a  plan, 
A  voice  of  thunder  speech 

Rolled  forth  in  majesty, 
"Lo,  ye  shall  know  the  truth 

And  the  truth  shall  make  you  freee !' 

And  the  cave  man  faced  the  beasts, 

And  watched  the  moon  wax  old. 
And  snatched  the  lightning's  fires 

To  tame  the  bitter  cold ; 
And  turned  his  stumbling  mind 

In  thorny  paths  of  thought, 
And  touched  his  fellow's  hand, 

And  knew  himself,  and  wrought. 


29 


PROGRESS 

Up  through  the  ancient  night, 

Dim  with  the  wrath  of  gods, 
Who  bade  man  not  to  learn, 

And  held  avenging  rods, 
Vast  tones  called  round  the  earth 

And  o'er  the  tidal  sea, 
"Lo  ye  shall  know  the  truth 

And  the  truth  shall  make  you  free  !" 

And  superstition's  chains 

Fell  as  dissolved  in  mist ; 
For  bravest  reason's  dawn 

The  gods  could  not  resist. 
And  all  their  thrones  seemed  fears, 

And  their  strong  wrath  but  dreams 
As  each  dread  shadowy  power 

Died  in  the  morning  gleams. 

Out  of  the  break  of  day, 

Amidst  the  great  crowned  kings, 
Where  steel-strong  cohorts  stood 

As  if  with  guardian  wings, 
A  word  thrice  bold  rang  forth 

To  men  on  bended  knee, 
"Lo,  ye  shall  know  the  truth. 

And  the  truth  shall  make  you  free !' 


30 


PROGRESS 

And  the  kings  shook  with  a  doubt, 

And  the  rulers  shrank  with  dread. 
Where  the  might  of  hope  stood  up 

To  strike  oppression  dead  ; 
And  all  their  hands  forbore. 

And  swords  were  sheathed  in  rust, 
Where  robes  and  crowns  at  last 

Lay  trodden  in  the  dust. 

Here,  where  the  day  shines  fair 

And  lights  all  wisdom's  deeds, 
Strength,  that  hath  done  with  fear, 

The  beckoning  future  heeds, 
Harking  the  potent  call 

From  the  lips  of  destiny, 
"Lo,  ye  shall  know  the  truth 

And  the  truth  shall  make  you  free !" 

The  world's  worn  order  goes, 

And    the   world's   fresh   heart   beats   strong. 
While  error  scarce  can  stand 

Amidst  his  fleeing  throng. 
And  life  still  proudly  dares, 

Where,  fair  in  fadeless  youth. 
With  conquest  in  its  eyes, 

It  marks  its  leader,  Truth  ! 


31 


LABOR'S  PRAYER  TO  WOMAN 

MOTHER    of    Earth,    hearest    thou    thine 
offspring  cry? 
Seest  thou  their  grief-crushed  faces  turned  to 

thee? 
They  gasp  for  succor  in  their  agony ; 
Stay  thou:   they   beg,   "Help,    Mother,  or  we 
die !" 

Yes,  serfs  in  chains  to  masters  throned  on  high. 
They  toil,  and  count  their  hours  in  misery, 
Cursing    the    thought   that    thou     couldst   let 
this  be, 
Coudst  let  life's  sweet  young  hopes  prove  but 
a  lie. 

These    are    thy    children    still,    though    larger 
grown ; 
Then,  with  a  mother's  love,  a  mother's  hate, 
Rouse !  and  for  thine  old  ignorance  atone, 
Which   taught  these,   e'en  through   love,  to 
bear  this  fate. 
Wrong    mocks    and  laughs ;    it  must  be    over- 
thrown ; 
Then  gird  thy  loins  for  war !  The  hour  is  late. 


32 


.MARGARETA  MARTENEZ 

Vy   HERE  ruthless  Diaz  held  his  sway 

By  grace  of  power  and  greed  of  gold. 
And  owned  the  might  to  save  or  slay, 
And  humbled  all  who  said  him  nay, 
Full  often  is  her  story  told. 


She  stood  anear  the  high-walled  mill, 

Before  the  barred  and  padlocked  gate, 
Where  men  and  women,  cowed  and  still, 
Dared  hardly  more  than  breathe,  until 
The  lords  within  should  speak  their  fate 


Among  the  starving  workers,  where 

They  saw  the  masters'  piled-up  bread ; 
Weeping  upon  their  hopeless  care, 
Hungry  among  the  hungry  there, 

She  heard  them  beg  that  they  be  fed. 


33 


MARGARETA  MARTENEZ 

Those  who,  many  months  before, 

Had  left  their  places  at  the  looms, 
Dragging  their  feet  across  the  floor, 
Drooping  and  heavy  through  the  door, 
Like  corpses  creeping  out  of  tombs. 


The  slaves,  whose  niggard  pittance  won 

Through  tortured  hours  of  murderous  strain, 
Had  scarce  sufficed  from  risen  sun 
To  bear  them  through  till  day  was  done, 
And  still  renew  their  lives  of  pain. 


And  now  they  came  with  broken  vows 

To  plead  for  tasks  which  they  had  spurned ; 
Begging  the  pittance  greed  allows 
To  such  as  have  no  heart  to  rouse, 

But  dumbly  take  what  they  have  earned. 


"Give  us  to  eat,"  the  starving  cried; 

"Then  will  we  work  what  way  ye  choose. 
Have  pity,  Masters,  in  your  pride, 
And  we  will   all   our  woes  abide, 

And  please  you  hence,  nor  more  refuse ! 


34 


MARGARETA  MARTENEZ 

"Give  us  to  eat, — a  crust  of  bread ; 

Famished  we  are  and  cannot  work; 
And  we  will  pay  you  when  we're  fed, 
With  double  tasks,  to  eat  your  bread ; 

With  double  tasks,  and  will  not  shirk!' 


Thus  they  beseeched.     But  scornful  ears 
Were  turned  to  catch  their  pleading  tones. 

Came  back  reply  to  sighs  and  tears ; 

Came  back  black  words,  and  jests  and  jeers, 
And  looks  of  hate,  to  all  their  groans. 


"Dogs!  Would  ye  eat  and  will  not  pay? 

And  from  whose  bounty  will  ye  eat? 
Open  your  ears  and  hear  us  say: 
Go,  get  your  food  along  the  way, 

And  munch  the  refuse  of  the  street ! 


"Dogs,  get  your  food  howe'er  ye  will ! 

Did  ye  lack  water,  do  ye  think 
That  we  would  for  your  begging  spill, 
And  stand  and  see  ye  have  your  fill? 

Ye  should  die  thirsting  for  one  drink !' 


35 


MARGARETA  MARTENEZ 

A  silence  fell  upon  them  there, 

The  silence  of  a  freezing  fear. 
Their  faces  blanched  with  hopeless  care 
Their  eyes  stood  at  a  glassy  stare, 
Too  dry  with  grief  to  drop  a  tear. 


The  fathers  thought  of  wife  and  child, 

And  shook  with  inward  agony; 
Daughters  stood  distraught  and  wild ; 
And  strong  sons  silently  reviled ; 

While  mothers  groaned,  and  thought  to  die. 


A  silence  fell. — What  maid  is  she 

Who  steps  out  from  the  faltering  crowd 
With  hand  upraised  and  manner  free, 
With  look  of  might  and  majesty, 

Whose  voice  is  clear  and  bold  and  loud? 


"Brothers  and  sisters !"  hear  her  cry, 
"These  would  not  longer  that  ye  live, 

But  only  laugh  if  ye  must  die. 

Yea,  they  rejoice  at  groan  and  sigh : 
Ask  not  for  aid,  such  will  not  give. 


MARGARETA  MARTENEZ 

"They  scorn  your  pangs;  they  taunt  and  jeer 
They  bid  ye  starve  and  find  no  aid. 

If  ye  have  hearts,  why  stand  ye  here? 

See  yonder  bread,  so  near,  so  near ! — 
Go,  take  and  eat ;  nor  be  afraid ! 


"They  name  ye  dogs,  mere  curs  that  crawl, 

Fit  for  the  kennel  or  the  pen  ; 
Which  do  not  bite,  but  bark  and  bawl ! 
If  ye  indeed  be  men  at  all, 

'Tis  time  to  prove  that  ye  are  men ! 


"Hark  to  my  word,  and  give  good  heed : 

Early  or  late  we  all  must  die: — 
If  ye  are  of  the  human  breed, 
Though  it  should  be  your  last  brave  deed, 

Strike  one  good  blow !    Ai\d  so  will  I !" 

They  stared  upon  her !     In  her  face 

A  look  shone  forth  which  strengthened  all. 
A  shout ;  and  in  a  moment's  space 
They  swarmed  defiant  round  the  place, 
And  threw  themselves  against  the  wall. 


37 


MARGARETA  MARTENEZ 

"Beat  down  those  bars !"  the  maiden  cried ; 

And  loud  the  blows  crashed  at  her  word. 
They  carried  beams  from  every  side ; 
And  not  one  hand  could  be  denied, 

So  by  her  spirit  all  were  stirred. 

Tis  Margareta,  soul  ablaze. 

She  leads  them  through  the  crumbling  wall 
They  loot  the  stores ;  they  rend  and  raze ; 
Their  fast  endured  for  many  days, 

Like  wolves  upon  the  bread  they  fall. 


Full  swift  the  tyrant's  soldiers  came, 

And  shot  them  as  they  triumphed  there ; 
But  through  the  smoke  and  rifle  flame 
From  dying  lips  there  rose  the  name 
Of  her  who  well  had  made  them  dare. 


They  bound  her  arms,  nor  shed  her  blood. 

And  bore  her  whence  none  knows  till  now ; 
But  let  them  do  whate'er  they  would, 
They  could  not  match  the  humanhood 
Of  the  high  soul  behind  that  brow. 


38 


MARGARETA  MARTENEZ 

It  matters  not  if  she  be  dead, 

Or  unto  awful  torture  hurled, 
And  worse  to  be,  hang  o'er  her  head, 
Since  all  men  know  the  things  she  said, 

And   the   words  she   spoke   ring   round   the 
world.  v 


39 


THE  REVELATION 


1  HE  bruised  rose  shall  yield  more  sweet 

Than  erst  it  could  impart; 
And  love  shall  fill,  as  is  most  meet, 
A  bruised  heart. 


Through  its  own  woe  the  heart  shall  learn 

The  sorrows  of  the  earth; — 
Thenceforth  its  life  with  love  shall  burn : 

It  knows  the  worth. 


40 


LABOR'S  ANSWER 

t^EACE,  peace,"  when  there  is  no  peace; 
When  Mammon  sits  enthroned, 
And  he  who  tells  of  a  world  for  all 

Is  driven  forth  and  stoned. 
For  there's  little  of  calm  or  friendship's  balm, 

Or  joy  of  a  kindly  deed, 
Where  man  is  sold  for  a  price  of  gold 

And  bound  in  the  chains  of  greed! 

"Peace,   peace,"   when   there    is   no   peace ; 

When  the  battle  for  work  means  life, 
And  men  must  tear  at  each  other's  throats 

By  the  law  of  the  club  and  knife. 
For  they  gather  slight  yield  of  the  forge  and 
field, 

Or  spoil  of  the  mine  and  mill ; 
And  the  pittance  of  each  but  helps  to  teach 

The  fear  of  his  brother  still ! 


41 


LABOR'S  ANSWER 

"Peace,  peace,"  when  there  is  no  peace; 

When  the  millions  shout,  "How  long?" 
And  the  armies  rise  at  the  masters'  will 

To  keep  their  kingdom  strong. 
For  the  rifles  flash,  and  the  Maxims  crash, 

And  the  gleaming  swords  descend; 
And  woe  they  bear  to  the  hearts  that  dare 

Their  birthrights  to  defend ! 

"Peace,  peace,"  when  there  is  no  peace ; 

When  the  peoples  drink  salt  tears, 
And  feed  on  their  hearts,  that  throb  with  woe 

And  break  with  the  cruel  years. 
For  the  children  cry,  and  their  mothers  die, 

And  the  fathers  droop  with  care, 
And  curse  each  day  in  a  dumb  dismay, 

Till  the  night  comes  with  despair ! 

"Peace,  peace,"  when  there  is  no  peace; 

When  the  whole  world  reeks  with  war. 
By  the  soul  of  man  that  awakes  at  last, 

What  peace  do  you  clamor  for! 
Comes  a  noble  fight ;  'tis  a  fight  for  right : 

We  are  ready  to  our  last  breath ! 
There  shall  be  no  peace  till  our  wrongs  may 
cease, 

Though  we  battle  to  the  death ! 


42 


HOPE  AND  EFFORT 

||OPE  is  of  the  valley;  effort  stands 

Upon  the  mountain-top,  facing  the  sun. 
Hope  dreams  of  dreams  made  true,  and  great 

deeds  done; 
Effort  goes  forth  with  toiling  feet  and  hands 
To  attain  the  far  off  sky-touched  table  lands 
Of  great  desire ;  and  till  the  end  is  won 
Looks  not  below,  where  the  long  strife,  begun 
In    pleasant    fields,    met    torrents,    rocks    and 

sands. 

Hope ;  but   when   hope   bids   look  within   her 

glass, 
And  shows  the  wondrous  things  which  may 

befall, 
Wait  not  for  destiny,  wait  not  at  all, 
Xor  sink  in  hesitation's  deep  morass : 
Sound  thou  to  all  thy  powers  a  trumpet  call, 
And  staff  in  hand  strive  up  the  mountain  pass. 


43 


'•UNTIL  YOU  ARE  BORN" 

[Written  when  the  Canadian  government  postponed 
the  execution  of  Angelina  Napolitano  until  her  child 
should  be  born.] 


UNTIL  you  are  born,  my  baby; 
Till  my  travail  pain  be  done. 
And  I  hear  on  the  hammered  gallows 

The  sound  of  my  death  begun ; 
Till  the  day  of  your  birth  they  keep  me, 

Despairing  beneath  their  scorn. 
Until  you  are  born,  my  baby ; 

Until  you  are  born. 

Until  you  are  born,  my  baby; 

Till  you  breathe,  and  smile,  and  cry; 
Till  the  hour  when  my  arms  would  fold  you 

They  will  not  let  me  die ; 
Till  your  first  soft  breath  must  part  us. 

And  they  kill  me  at  early  morn. 
Until  you  are  born,  my  baby; 

Until  you  are  born. 


44 


"UNTIL  YOU  ARE  BORN" 

Until  you  are  born,  my  baby; 

Till  you  wail  in  your  mother  need, 
While  the  pitiless  bell  tolls  slowly 

The  hour  of  their  heartless  deed ; 
Till  they  snatch  you  away  from  my  bosom. 

My  bosom  racked  and  forlorn. 
Until  you  are  born,  my  baby; 

Until  you  are  born. 

Until  you  are  born,  my  baby ; 

Till  the  hour  of  my  death  be  due, 
Till  the  hangman  takes  me  to  kill  me ; — 

So  good  he  will  not  kill  you. 
Till  I  see  you,  and  hold,  and  kiss  you, 

And  sing  to  you  while  I  mourn. 
Until  you  are  born,  my  baby; 

Until  you  are  born. 

Until  you  are  born,  my  baby; 

Until  every  pang  I  feel 
Burns  fierce  as  the  fire  of  torture 

Or  rends  like  the  ripping  steel. 
Till  I  tear  at  my  breasts  in  anguish, 

And  the  jailers  the  death  watch  warn. 
Until  you  are  born,  my  baby ; 

Until  vou  are  born. 


45 


"UNTIL  YOU  ARE  BORN" 

Until  you  are  born,  my  baby; 

Until  I  must  sob  "good-bye;" 
Till  I  beg  them  to  kill  you  with  me, 

And  let  you  die  as  I  die ; 
Till  I  feel  that  but  life  is  cruel ; 

And  madden  on  that  last  morn. 
Until  you  are  born,  my  baby; 

Until  you  are  born. 


46 


THE  DEFENSE  OF  THE  RAG  DOLL 

VI  O,  I  don't  want  to  play  with  you ; 

You  call  my  doll  a  "fright." 
I  know  she's  got  shoe-button  eyes, 

And  her  arms  ain't  sewed  on  right, 
But  I  don't  hear  a  word  you  say. 

You  touch  her  if  you  dare ! 
You  nasty,  mean,  stuck-up  old  thing! 

And  you  needn't  laugh;  so  there! 

My  mama  cut  her  out  for  me. 

She  has  got  mouth  and  nose ! 
You  needn't  say  she  ain't.     Your  pa 

Buys  dolls  for  you,  I  s'pose. 
You  mind  your  business ;  that's  her  name ! 

Make  faces,  I  don't  care. 
You  nasty,  mean,  stuck-up  old  thing! 

Alnd  you  needn't  langh ;  so  there ! 


47 


THE  DEFENSE  OF  THE  RAG  DOLL 

That's  nothin',  if  your  folks  are  rich ! 

You're  "made  of  rags,"  I  guess. 
No,  she  don't  have  to  "go  barefoot, 

And  wear  a  dirty  dress !" 
She's  got  three  dresses  and  a  hat — 

All  that  she  needs  to  wear. 
You  nasty,  mean,  stuck-up  old  thing! 

And  you  needn't  laugh ;  so  there ! 

You  stop,  now,  peekin'  through  our  fence ! 

What's  that  mean  thing  you  say? 
N'ya,  nya,  nya,  nya,  nya,  nya,  nya,  nya  S 

I'm  here,  and  I'll  just  stay. 
If  you  keep  'busing  dolly  so, 

I  know  I'll  say  a  swear ! 
You  nasty,  mean,  stuck-up  old  thing! 

And  you  needn't  laugh ;  so  there ! 

No,  I  don't  want  to  see  your  doll, 
•    If  she  can  move  her  eyes ! 
Dolly,  you're  the  dearest  thing ; 

And  she  just  tells  big  lies! 
My  dolly's  just  as  nice  as  yours, 

If  she  ain't  got  any  hair. 
You  nasty,  mean,  stuck-up  old  thing! 

And  you  needn't  laugh  ;  so  there ! 


48 


A    VISION 

I  N  DREAMS  I  saw  the  world's  old  sorrow 

fade, 
A  cloud  of  error  lifted  from  man's  soul. 
The  golden  idol  crashed  in  dust;  the  whole 
Of  pride  and  envy,  hate  and  fear  obeyed 
A  world-wide  will  and  vanished.     Unafraid. 
Man  clasped  his  brother,  in  the  sweet  control 
Of  Love,  who,  leading  from  the  gates  of  dole, 
Had  given  him  new  sight  and  perfect  aid. 

I  saw  great  hosts  marshalled  on  many  a  plain, 
Their  banners   marked   with   "Love   hath  vic- 
tory !" 
.Sweet  anthems  pierced   the   skies  in   glorious 

strain 
And  echoed  on  and  on  most  rapturously. 
The  wonder  woke  me.    With  the  vision's  wane 
A  voice  spake  to  my  ear,  "This  yet  shall  be." 


49 


LOVE  AND  HATE 

L  OVE  met  with  Hate  beside  the  porch  of 

time, 
As  both  went  forth  to  traverse  every  clime. 

They  parted  at  the  parting  of  the  ways; 
'   Love  bade  farewell,  nor  knew  Hate's  baleful 
gaze. 

I 
And  Love  was  glad  of  sunlight  and  moonlight, 
But  Hate  loved  only  darkness  in  the  night. 

Love  stood  entranced  while  sang  tlr  enrap- 
tured birds; 

Hate  stopped  his  ears,  and  murmured  bitter 
words. 

Love  worshipped  where  the  flowers  were  fair 

to  see; 
Hate  turned  away  and  sought  some  misery. 

Love  laughed  when  rain  fell  on  the  fair,  green 

earth, 
But  Hate  within  his  heart  wished  for  a  dearth. 


50 


LOVE  AND  HATE 

Love  lingered  where  the  fields  would  yield  in- 
crease; 

Hate  hoped  for  blight,  that  harvest  joys  might 
cease. 

Love  came  at  last  and  saw  himself  in  men, 
And  made  no  sound,  for  joy;   nor  wandered 
then; 

Hate  later  came;  and  looking,  mad  with  rage, 
Made  himself  known,  and  would  in  war  en- 
gage; 

Love  gazed  upon  him,  and  he  fled  away, 
As  flees  the  night  before  the  face  of  day, 

And  lived  in  ambush ;  making  bitterness, 
Envy  and  scorn,  and  woe,  and  all  distress. 

But  love,  because  of  his  pure  soul,  was  glad 
In  all  the  myriad  blessings  that  time  had ; 

And  so  drew  in  new  life  with  every  breath; 
But  Hate  drank  his  own  poison  till  his  death. 


51 


THE  MEETING  OF  THE  WINDS 

I  HE  Northwind  met  with  the  Southwind 

On  the  wide  ways  of  the  sky, 
And  the  air  turned  frost  as  the  clouds  were 
tossed 
To  in  confusion  lie  ; 
For  the  Northwind  raged  at  the  Southwind 

To  buffet  her  where  she  flew, 
But  the  Southwind  smiled  like  one  beguiled 
As  her  flower-sweet  breath  she  blew. 


The  Northwind  turned  to  the  Southwind, 

And  saw  her  that  she  was  fair; 
With  laugh  of  delight,  with  eyes  of  night, 

And  back-blown,  sun-bronzed  hair. 
And  the  Southwind  knew  him,  the  Northwind, 

And  saw  him  that  he  was  strong; 
With  face  to  command,  and  a  mighty  hand 

To  whip  his  gusts  along. 


52 


THE  MEETING  OF  THE  WINDS 

The  Southwind  sang  to  the  Northwind, 

"I  am  warmer  than  love,  or  fire, 
And  I  know  thy  goal  is  the  Southern  Pole, 

But  thou  art  my  heart's  desire ;" 
And  the  Northwind  answered  the  Southwind, 

"Wanderer,  wait  with  me  then: 
Thy  singing  is  sweet;  'tis  well  that  we  meet : 

Make  me  thy  music  again." 

The  Southwind  kissed  to  the  Northwind, 

And  the  Northwind  clasped  her  hands ; 
While  the  wrath  was  hushed  of  the  gales  that 
rushed 

Full  wild  o'er  the  seas  and  lands. 
And  there,  twixt  the  earth  and  heavens, 

At  twilight  or  at  morn, 
Midst  waftings  from  flowers  in  far-off  bowers, 

The  delicate  spring  was  born. 


53 


TWO  POWERS 

TP  HE  power  of  wrong 
Is  iron  strong; 
Is  the  power  of  right,  then,  weak? 
The  power  of  right 
Is  a  greater  might 
Than   thou   canst   think   or   speak. 

Each  claims  the  world. 

Right's  word  is  hurled 
That  it  bears  fear  of  none : 

But  wrong  foregoes 

War,  till  it  knows 
Some  foul  advantage  won. 

Where'er  they  clash, 
And  great   blows  crash, 
Wrong,  fearful,  counts  each  friend 
Let  friends  be  few, 
Let  none  be  true. 
Right  battles  till  the  end ! 


54 


TWO  POWERS 

They  struggle  still 
Through  well  and  ill ; 

Wrong  tricks  its  every  blow. 
With  brave  sword  hand 
Right  still  would  stand 

In  fair  fight  with  its  foe. 

Through  time's  full  length 

Wrong  guards  its  strength 
As  if  it  feared  its  fate ; 

Right  risks  its  all, 

To  stand  or  fall, 
With  patience  which  can  wait. 

Once  wounded  sore, 
Wrong  strives  no  more, 

But  trembling  with  its  smart, 
Flees  from  disdain, 
To  staunch  its  pain, 

And  hide  its  coward  heart. 

On  every  field 
Where  it  must  yield, 

Right  fears  no  mortal  thrust, 
But  rises  there 
Still  strong  to  dare, 

Though  stricken  to  the  dust! 


55 


TWO   POWERS 

Wrong's  falsest  power 

Fails  hour  by  honr, 
And  ever  stands  at  bay ; 

But  the  heart  of  right 

It  thirsts  for  fight, 
Grown   stronger  every   day. 

Till  one  by  one 

Lies  flee  the  sun, 
And  the  war-worn  years  are  sped. 

And  the  last  bold  deed 

Is  right's  good  meed, 
And  wrong  sinks,  stricken  dead. 

The  power  of  wrong 

Is  strong,  thrice  strong. 
And  the  fearful  cringe  and  cry  ; 

But  a  blow  shall  fall 

To  end  it  all, 
Ere  the  years  of  man  go  by ! 


56 


THE  DEAD   FINANCIER 
LlAR  by  half  truths  which  thou  hast  said, 

Trickster  by  hid  snares  that  thou  hast 
spun, 
Thief  by  treasures  vast  which  thou  hast  won, 
Hypocrite  by  the  mouths  that  thou  hast  fed, 
Tyrant  by  the  cause  which  thou  hast  led, 
Murderer  by  the  wars  thou  hast  begun, 
Monster  by  all  deeds  which  thou  hast  done. 
Thou  later  Nero,  thou  art  foiled  and  dead ! 

Now  may  the  horde  of  gold  men  stare,  and  see 
The  due  reward  that  falls  to  monstrous  lust ; 
While  still  the  peoples  struggle  to  be  free, 
Though    hired    swords    in    streams    of    blood 

should  rust, 
Contempt  at  last  shall  come  to  all  like  thee, 
Whom  death  hath  choked  and  flung  into  the 

dust ! 


57 


A  JUDGMENT 

**WE  lives  before  his  day!"  the  carpers  cry: 

"The  man  would  outstrip  even  time  and 

fate !" 

Who  waits  for  warring  years  to  pass  him  by, 

And   lets   right   stand  or  fall,  has  lived   too 

late ! 


58 


THE    CHILDREN    OF   THE    LOOMS 

()H,  what  are  these  that  plod  the  road 

At  dawn's  first  hour  and  evening's  chime. 
Each  back  bent  as  beneath  a  load. 

Each  sallow  face  afoul  with  grime? 
Nay,  what  are  these  whose  little  feet 

Scarce  bear  them  on  to  toil  or  bed ! 
Do  hearts  within  their  bosoms  beat? 

Surely,  'twere  better  they  were  dead. 

Babes  are  they,  doomed  to  cruel  dooms, 

Who  labor  all  the  livelong  day ; 
Who  stand  beside  the  roaring  looms 

Nor  ever  turn  their  eyes  away;  ^ 

Like  parts  of  those  machines  of  steel : 

Like  wheels  that  whirl,  like  shuttles  thrown ; 
Without  the  power  to  dream  or  feel ; 

With  all  of  childishness  unknown. 


59 


THE    CHILDREN    OF   THE    LOOMS 

Brothers  and  sisters  of  the  flowers, 

Fit  playmates  of  the  bird  and  bee, 
For  you  grow  soft  the  springtime  hours ; 

For  you  the  shade  lies  'neath  the  tree. 
For  you  life  smiles  the  whole  day  long; 

For  you  she  breathes  each  breath  in  bliss, 
And  turns  all  sound  into  a  song; 

And  you,  and  you  are  come  to  this ! 

Is't  not  enough  that  man  should  toil 

To  fill  the  hands  that  clutch  for  gold? 
Is't  not  enough  that  women  moil, 

And  in  life's  summer  time  grow  old? 
Is't  not  enough  that  death  should  pale 

To  see  men  welcome  him  as  rest ; 
But  must  the  children  drudge  and  fail, 

And  perish  on  the  mother's  breast? 

See,  lovers,  wed  at  tender  eve ; 

See,  mothers,  with  your  new-born  young; 
See,  fathers — if  ye  can,  believe  ; 

From  infant  blood,  lo,  wealth  is  wrung ! 
See  homes  ;  see  towns  ;  see  cities  ;  states ; 

Earth,  show  it  to  the  skies  above! 
Lovers  who  pass  through  rapture's  gates, 

Are  these,  are  these  your  fruits  of  love? 


60 


THE    CHILDREN    OF   THE    LOOMS 

O  man,  who  boast  your  lands  subdued, 

Your  conquered  air,  your  oceans  tamed, 
Who  mold  all  nature  to  your  mood, 

Look  on  these  babes  and  be  ashamed  ! 
Dull  looks  from  out  each  weary  face, 

Cold  words  upon   each   little  tongue, — 
Dead  lives  that  know  not  childhood's  grace, 

Grown  old  before  they  can  be  young. 

Hear,  world  of  Mammon,  brutal,  bold, 

Gorging  with  life  the  maw  of  greed, 
Measuring  everything  by  gold, 

The  good  deed  with  the  evil  deed — 
The  pangs  of  suffering  childhood's  care, 

Now  coined  in  coins  to  fill  a  purse, 
These  things  shall  haunt  you  everywhere, 

And  rest  upon  you  for  a  curse ! 


61 


SLOW,  SLOW 

^LOWj  slow,  the  long  hours  go; 

Slow  comes  the  day; 
But  hard,  hard,  the  strength  must  strain 

That  drives  the  night  awav. 
Slow,  slow,  the  rivers  flow ; 

Slow  swells  the  tree ; 
But  strong,  strong,  with  pressing  urge, 

Their  force  strives  on  to  be. 

Slow,  slow,  the  great  airs  blow; 

Slow  comes  the  wind ; 
But  long,  long,  the  powers  must  toil 

Which  follow  close  behind. 
Slow,  slow,  and  to  and  fro, 

Move  all  the  oceans  wide, 
But  vast,  vast,  must  be  the  stress 

That  dwells  within  the  tide. 


62 


SLOW,  SLOW 

Slow,  slow,  doth  wisdom  grow; 

Slow  conies  the  right; 
But  staunch,  staunch,  must  effort  stand 

To  move  things  with  its  might. 
Slow,  slow,  our  life  we  know : 

Slow  comes  brotherhood ; 
But  brave,  brave,  be  human  hearts 

To  win  the  world  for  good. 


63 


THE  NEWER  HEMLOCK 

/yi  EN  do  not  now,  as  once  to  Socrates, 

Proffer     the     hemlock's     draught,     the 
grave's  cold  bed, 

To  such  as  shame  the  time,  whose  lips  have 
said 

The  hard,  cold  truths  that  shake  the  world's 
dull  ease; 

Nay,  they  know  craftier  means  to  silence  these  ; 

— For   truth   will   live   though   truth's   friend's 
are  struck  dead, 

And    weaken    not,    but    wax    in    strength,    in- 
stead— 

Another  drink  they  give,  with  other  lees. 

Some  strong  man  wars  with  power;  they  offer 

place  ; 
Or  spurns  the  lusts  of  wealth ;  they  pour  him 

gold. 
These  teach  him  to  avert,  or  steel  his  face, 
Amidst  the  marts  where  all  is  bought  and  sold, 
Until,  inured  to  baseness,  he  grows  base, 
And  scorns  what  he  had  died  for,  glad,  of  old ! 


64 


THE  GUILLOTINE 

1793 

Tyi  ORNING  breaks  there  in  the  east; 

The  stars  pale  in  the  sky. 
And  we  shall  see  a  marriage  feast 

Before  the  sun  comes  high. 
The  guests  e'en  now  are  on  their  way; 

Those  voices  which  I  hear 
Are  joyous  all.     Make  holiday, 

My  friends,  I  lend  an  ear! 

Yes,  time  has  come  when  I  must  wed ; 

The  barber  told  last  night 
Of  how  the  service  would  be  said 

'Twixt  dawn  and  candle  light. 
The  priest  will  all  his  vestments  wear; 

And  I,  with  hands  behind, 
Shall  bow  and  kiss  the  maiden  there 

Who's  wholly  to  my  mind. 


65 


THE  GUILLOTINE 

They  gather  round  the  altar  now 

Outside  the  barred  gates. 
Great  store  of  choicest  gifts  they  show 

For  him  who  harks  and  waits. 
Yes,  sing!     This  is  my  marriage  morn, 

And  song  should  usher  in 
That  day,  a  bridegroom,  cleanly  shorn, 

His  willing  bride  shall  win. 

Scarce  thirty  years  of  life  are  mine, 

But  I  am  amply  wise; 
I  know  the  water  from  the  wine, 

And  the  spirit  from  the  eyes. 
And  glad  am  I  the  hour  is  here 

When  I  must  know  the  rest — 
With  naught  to  learn  there's  naught  to  fear 

The  end  be  happiest! 

Scarce  thirty  years,  and  I  have  learned 

Man's  strange,  unstable  heart; 
Whom  once  he  loved  full  oft  is  spurned 

From  all  the  world  apart. 
Whom  once  man  loved,  at  last  may  gain 

As  payment  for  his  strife, 
Bars  and  thick  walls  to  hide  his  pain, 

Or  kiss  of  keenest  knife. 


66 


THE  GUILLOTINE 

How  fair  my  Love  is,  tall  and  fair ; 

And  calm  in  every  hour! 
She's  standing  like  a  lily  where, 

Within  her  secret  bower, 
She's  made  all  ready  for  my  kiss 

By  faithful  hands  and  kind. 
In  truth,  the  thought  of  it  is  bliss, 

A  rapture  of  the  mind! 

Good  Jailor,  help  me  here  to  dress; 

My  coat  is  streaked  wifch  mud ; 
This  knitted  kerchief,  I  confess, 

Was  dipped  in  royal  blood! 
Give  now  my  cap  of  liberty; 

At  last  my  garb  is  well. 
'Tis  in  your  hand,  the  second  key; 

Unlock,  unlock  my  cell! 

My  bride  has  left  her  tiring  place ; 

Hark,  how  the  people  shout! 
The  swaying  crowd  would  see  her  face; 

It  is  a  joyous  rout. 
Again  now,  "Vive  la  Guillotine!" 

How  sweetly  sounds  her  name. 
Who  weds  with  her  is  proud,  I  ween; 

He  weds  a  noble  dame! 


67 


THE  GUILLOTINE 

Do  I  regret  when  death  is  nigh 

The  service  which  I  brought? 
Now,  that  the  hour  has  come  to  die, 

Was  all  too  dearly  bought  ? 
Mankind,  my  brothers,  I  forgive. 

This  my  reward  shall  be: 
A  wiser  race  sometime  shall  live, 

When  the  peoples  can  be  free. 

She  comes  down  from  the  cart  at  last, 

With  him  who  does  the  deed. 
The  time  is  nigh,  the  past  is  past; 

Well  may  all  measures  speed ! 
She  takes  her  place  where  men  can  look 

And  greet  us  when  'tis  done, 
And  say,  "How  well  his  kiss  she  took; 

None  fairer  'neath  the  sun!" 

My  bride  awaits  me !    Hist !    A  sound 

Far  down  the  corridor! 
That  heavy  tread  upon  the  ground  ; 

Ten  guards  have  I,  or  more! 
You   honor  me,  good  fellows  all ; 

Five  on  each  side,  quite  dumb. 
The  bell  rings  on  the  prison  wall — 

I  come,  Sweet  Love,  I  come ! 


68 


FAILURE 

\\/HO,  then,  hath  failed?    That  one  who  tries 

To  reach  life  far  above  his  eyes ; 
Who  longs  to  do  the  worthiest  things, 
And  'gainst  all  difficulties  flings 
The  power  and  strength  that  make  a  man ; 
That  one  who  would  complete  what  faith  began, 
But,  climbing  on,  overcoming  all, 
Bursts  his  strong  heart,  and  reels,  to  fall 
Before  some  last  vast  summit  still  unsealed? 
He  hath  not  failed! 

There  is  a  triumph  in  defeat; 
And  noble  sorrow's  tears  are  sweet. 
The  high  heart  raptures,  though  it  break 
In  stress  of  agony's  fierce  ache. 
Yes,  when  all  strength,  all  will  is  spent 
In  strife  where  truth  and  honor  both  are  blent, 
The  sense  of  worth,  the  thought  that  all 
Was  risked  for  good,  to  stand  or  fall — 
These  things  turn  blackest  ruin  that  may  be, 
To  victory! 


69 


FAILURE 

Who,  then,  hath  failed?    Tis  he  whose  deeds 
Scorn  truth  and  right;  who  hears  nor  heeds 
Our  fear,  our  faith,  or  wrath,  or  love. 
Whose  iron  ambition  strives  above 
All  measures  of  all  good  and  ill; 
A  frenzied  ego  with  a  poisoned  will ; 
Who  gains  his  joy,  his  life,  his  light 
In  triumphs  of  a  monstrous  might! 
Though  'neath  a  world-wide  power  his  shame  be 
veiled, 

He,  he,  hath  failed ! 


70 


THE  DEATH  OF  A  TOILER 

I  T  was  the  morning  that  she  died.     For  weeks, 

in  sorrow, 
We  watched  beside  her  broken  life,  fearing  each 
morrow. 

The  white  plague's  brand  had  struck  the  mark, 

and  on  her  features 
Had  set  the  seal  that  harshly  pales  the  fairest 

creatures. 

And  now  we  knew  that  she  must  go ;  her  breast's 

faint  moving 
Told  us  she  was  beyond  all  help,   all  save  our 

loving. 

A  smile  was  on  her  open  lips,  and  she  was  sleep- 
ing; 

Our  hearts  with  vain  regrets  were  torn,  and  we 
were  weeping; 


71 


THE  DEATH  OF  A  TOILER 

But  as  we  raised  our  eyes  and  saw  her  face  ex- 
pressing 

The  calm  of  coming  death,  we  rose,  our  tears 
repressing, 


And  learned  how  death  could  come  most  like  a 

friend,   relieving; 
Not  as  in  horrid  guise,  relentless  and  bereaving. 


She  woke,  and  turned  to  us  an  eye  so  lit  with 
gladness 

That  we  forgot  that  grief  could  be,  or  even  sad- 
ness; 


And  listened,  as  in  broken  speech  she  told  how 
sweetly 

The  touch  of  peace  lay  on  her  life,  resigned  com- 
pletely. 


"The  work,  the  wearying  work,  is  done,  at  last 

is  ended ; 
There  are  no  new   things  to  be  made  nor  old 

ones  mended ; 


72 


THE  DEATH  OF  A  TOILER 

"The   rush,   the   crowd,   the   heat,   the   roar  of 

wheels  is  over, 
And  I  can  feel  above  my  head  the  blowing  clover. 


"How  sweet  to  fold  my  worn-out  hands  and  lie 
in  quiet, 

Far  from  the  factory's  stunning  whirl  and  strain- 
ing riot. 


"For  ah,  I'm  lying  in  Death's  arms,  and  while 

I'm  lying 
I  hear  him  whisper:  'You  shall  rest;  for  this  is 

dying.' 


"Dear  rest,  dear  surcease;  only  calm,  and  that 

forever, 
I  long  for  now,  a  dreamless  sleep  that  endeth 

never. 


"All  pain  is  gone;  and  now  it  seems,  while  life 
is  ceasing, 

That  what  is  best  is  mine  at  last,  with  death  in- 
creasing/' 


73 


THE  DEATH  OF  A  TOILER 

And  soon  she  could  not  longer  speak;  but  lay, 

still  smiling; 
Our  hearts  and  thoughts  from  what  had  been, 

and  was,  beguiling; 


Still  smiling,  and  with  eyes  fixed  on  us  still,  ap- 
pealing 

For  soft  compassion  on  the  longing  she  was 
feeling; 


Until,  with  one  soft  sigh  and  one  last  smile,  she 
parted 

From  us,  who  but  an  hour  before  were  broken- 
hearted. 


We  closed  her  eyes,  and  did  not  weep,  for  she 

had  taken 
A  sweet  nepenthe  for  her  pain,  and  would  not 

waken. 


74 


NO  BONDAGE  FOR  ME 

£HAINS  are  not  other  than  chains, 
Though  fashioned  of  gold,  I  cry ; 
Nor  is  liberty  less  than  a  boon, 

Though  I  have  but  a  cup  and  a  crust. 
Better  a  bed  in  the  fields. 

And  a  man's  heart,  at  dawn  in  the  sky, 
Than  a  luxury  great  as  a  king's, 

Where  a  voice  ever  utters  "Thou  must!' 


75 


MARY  WOLLSTONECRAFT 

I  N  chains  the  heart  of  beauteous  woman  lay, 
Subdued   to   man,   and   robbed   of   half   its 
power ; 
Love,   that   should   spring    up     sweetly    like    a 

flower, 
Aborted  lived,  midst  blasting  and  decay. 
Whose  life  broke  forth,  she  perished  in  dismay ; 
Who  spoke  of  freedom  soon  must  sadly  cower, 
Seeing  the  brow  of  her  taskmaster  lour, 
His  hand  upraised  to  smite  her  or  to  slay. 


Among  those  slaves  abject,  one,  brave,  arose 
And  cried,  "Behold!  this  shall  not  always  be; 
Woman,  arise;  only  the  bold  are  free!" 
Nor  insults,  heavier  bonds,  nor  bitter  blows 
Availed  to  still  her,  where,  midst  daunted  foes, 
She  stood  with  eyes  that  saw  futurity. 


76 


SACRAMENT 

I  N  the  early  August  hours, 

Where  the  poor  and  humble  pine, 
Tenderly  she  touched  the  leaves 

On  a  morning  glory  vine. 
Soft  she  wet  the  thirsty  blooms 

That  struggled  with  the  parching  heat, 
And  o'er  the  crumbling  window  ledge 

Bent  and  kissed  them  for  their  sweet. 


Nigh  on  noon,  where  mills  clashed  loud, 

Slowly  draining  human  veins, 
Broodingly  she  dried  the  tears 

Of  childhood  wound  in  labor's  chains. 
She  stroked  the  lean,  sob-shaken  hands, 

Laved  and  cooled  the  little  cheek, 
And  mother-like,  with  pillowed  breast, 

Gave  her  heart  to  help  the  weak. 


77 


SACRAMENT 

With  the  ending  of  that  day, 

Home  from  all  the  toiling  throng 
Near  to  night's  brief  hours  of  rest, 

Low  she  sang  a  comrade  song, 
Sang  its  glad  words  o'er  and  o'er, 

Musing  midst  her  cares  and  fears, 
And  while  her  voice  ebbed  to  a  sigh, 

Consecrated  faith  with  tears. 


All  the  joy  she  had  of  flower^, 

All  her  childward  watchfulness, 
All  her  trust  in  times  to  come, 

Seemed  to  merge,  a  power  to  bless. 
Such,  who  thrill  to  all  fair  things, 

Such,  whose  arms  as  shelters  be 
Such,  whose  faith  outlives  hard  fate, 

Such  will  help  us  to  be  free. 


78 


MUSIC 

A/l  USIC,  the  language  of  the  soul, 
Which  words  can  never  teach: 
A  miracle  of  sound,  that  gives 
The  unutterable  to  speech. 


79 


ARDORS 

TPHE  sea's  voice  as  it  challenges  the  shore — 

The  shore's  voice  as  it  echoes  back  the  sea — - 
A  cry  sent  up  where  awful  power  must  be, 
And  then  a  long,  reverberate,  answering  roar. 
Attack  upon  resistance  o'er  and  o'er: 
These  titans  aye  contend  for  mastery ; 
And,  as  I  hark,  I  think  for  you  and  me, 
My  comrades,  strife  until  our  heads  are  hoar. 


But,  though  powers  front  us  like  the  waves,  nor 

rest 
Nor  hush  themselves  a  moment,  like  the  land 
That  fails  not  though  it  conquers  not,  we  stand, 
Fearless,  and  scorning  e'en  the  mightiest; 
Waving,  where  men  can  see,  a  token  hand 
That  shows  the  heart  still  staunch  within  its 

breast. 


80 


THE  THIEF  OF  TIME 

^\I  HO  has  not  had  his  noble  dreams 
Of  strong  and  fair  endeavor ; 
Who  has  not  cherished  freedom's  schemes 
And  planned  high  triumphs  ever? 


Who  has  not  oft  in  youth,  and  still 
Through  manhood's  ample  stages. 

Felt  all  his  untried  heart  and  will 
Aroused  by  noble  rages? 


Toil's  great  ideal  shakes  the  hand, 
And  lights  the  soul  with  beauty, 

Ridding  us  take  a  brother's  stand, 
And  make  its  care  our  dutv. 


But  there's  a  voice,  a  tongue  of  fate, 
Which  halts  us  in  our  striving, 

Alnd  warns  "Beware!     A  task  too  great: 
Your  purpose  is  not  thriving." 


81 


THE  THIEF  OF  TIME 

Or  sounds,  prolific  in  excuse, 
Still  pleading  for  postponement; 

And  justifies  each  day's  abuse 
By  promising  atonement. 


When  we  would  face  our  tasks,  it  tells. 

"Your  time  will  come  tomorrow." 
And  when  we  doubt  our  strength,  it  knells, 

"Man  cannot  work  in  sorrow." 


Condemning  all  the  means  that  are, 
For  those  in  distance  nearing, 

It  holds  us  from  attainment  far, 
While  power  is  disappearing. 


And  so  youth  flies  and  manhood  flies, 
And  worth  has  shown  no  token. 

Till  life  in  retrospection  lies, 
And  we  are  grey  and  broken. 


82 


OX  AN  TNFANT  BURIED  IN  WINTER 

TpHE  flowers  which  in  their  buds  must  die. 

They  droop  ere  blossom  time  goes  by. 
The  tender  turf,  it  spreads  their  biers ; 
The  rainbow  clouds  drop  gentle  tears; 
While  with  soft  sorrows  of  the  spring 
The  younger  winds  their  dirges  sing. 
At  end  they  find  a  covering  pall 
Neath  rose  leaves,  that  upon  them  fall. 


This  life  which  in  the  bud  lies  dead, 
This  smiling  babe  whose  breath  has  sped, 
Why  must  it  to  earth's  bosom  go, 
Midst  freezing  winds  and  driving  snow? 
Its  life's  soft  springtime  but  begun 
Neath  brightest  beams  of  love's  warm  sun, 
It  should  have  ended  its  brief  hours 
In  halcyon  days  of  opening  flowers. 


83 


MAN'S  FRIEND 

VLI  HO  dares  to  leave  the  life  of  private  ends, 
And  on  himself  the  world's  great  burden 
take, 
Who  tramples  selfishness,  and  turns  to  make 
All  men  his  friends, 


In  the  large  service  of  the  common  weal, 

Virtues  he  needs  of  high  and  noble  name ; — 
He  should  possess  such  scorn  of  praise  and 
fame 

As  martyrs  feel ; 


He  should  have  faith  too  great  for  doubt  to  harm, 
Patience  all  untouched  through  passing  years, 
And  wisdom  that  makes  jest  of  doubts  and 
fears, 

Unmoved  and  calm. 


84 


MAN'S  FRIEND 

If  he  have  these,  and  love,  no  fate  can  come 
To  make  his  work  as  though  it  had  not  been; 
It  serveth  much,   though   Death   should   step 
between 

And  strike  him  dumb ; 


Or  he  be  fall'n,  and  none  know  where  he  fell. 
Crushed  by  the  power  that  he  would  fain  have 

served. 
E'en  out  of  silence  he  speaks  who  hath  not 
swerved ; 

His  work  is  well! 


85 


TO  A  ROBIN 

MELODIOUS  bird  upon  the  bough, 

Tell  me  the  secret  of  thy  glee ; 
With  tears  at  heart  and  clouded  brow, 

I  linger,  listening  to  thee. 
I  pause,  bewildered  at  thy  soul, 

Which  pours  itself  in  strains  so  high 
Upon  this  world  of  doom  and  dole; 

Where  sorrows  live  and  raptures  die. 

Thy  pleasures,  too,  are  mixed  with  pain ; 

I  have  my  griefs,  and  thou  hast  thine. 
Thou  sufferest  from  the  wind  and  ram; 

In  famine  thou  full  oft  dost  pine. 
Thy  nested  young,  perhaps,  are  dead, 

Or  thy  blue  eggs  were  stolen  away ; 
But  still  thou   liftest   up  thine  head 

To  carol  to  each  dawning  day. 


86 


TO  A  ROBIN 

Hast  thou  a  strength  that  I  must  miss: 

Or  inner  light  which  knows  no  dark? 
Dost  thou  command  some  purer  bliss 

Which  naught  adverse  has  might  to  mark, 
That  thou  art  aye,  as  now,  serene, 

Despite  whatever  fates  may  fall? 
Hast  thou  some  good  in  all  things  seen, 

And  sweetly  singest  each  and  all? 

Or  art  thou  of  the  vagrant  glad, 

Who  rarely  feel  the  touch  of  fear; 
Too  blithe  within  to  e'er  be  sad, 

Or  hold  a  vanished  joy  too  dear? 
Say,  dost  thou  quick  forget  thy  woe, 

And  lightly  lilt  o'er  thought's  emprise? 
Seems  it  true  wisdom  not  to  know, 

And  fatuous  folly  to  be  wise? 

Thou  answerest  not,  but  still  dost  sing 

As  though  thy  heart  would  burst  with  joy. 
Whate'er  thou  art,  glad,  winged  thing, 

Grief  cannot  hurt  thee  or  destroy. 
T  harkening  stand,  and  sobs  repress, 

Where  hope  is  brief  and  life  is  long, 
To  wonder  o'er  thy  lightsomeness 

And  envy  thee  that  happier  song! 


87 


LOOKING  ON  THE  SIERRAS 


INTERNAL  winter  lives  on  that  far  height; 

Immortal  summer  fills  this  vale  below; 
But  those  vast  peaks  of  pure,  unstained  snow 
Look  down  where  lush  flowers  bloom  and  birds 

delight, 
And   rich   fruits  ripen   sweet  through  summer's 

might, 
Their  solemn  presence  harmonizing  so, 
With  these  in  gracious  contrast. 


Gaze;  and  know 
That  man  is  ever  noblest  in  man's  sight 
When,  midst  those  acts  familiar,  fair,  and  good, 
The  flowers  of  fellowship  shown  day  by  day, 
He  still  maintains  his  strength,  his  hardihood 
Of  life,  and  keeps  his  individual  way 
Austerely :  through  the  grandeur  of  his  blood 
Scorning  to  basely  rule,  or  to  obey. 


88 


THE  GIRL  OF  THE  ROSE 


LIKE  a  rose  you  are  with  that  rose  in  your 
hand ; 
With  that  rich  red  rose  in  your  hair. 
And   that    rose    of    love    in    your   heart,    dear 
Heart- 
Speak;  may  I  gather  it  there? 


Wet  let  it  be  with  the  dew  of  love's  tears ; 

Holding  no  worm  of  guile ; 
And,  giving  it  odor  sweet,  my  Sweet, 

Make  it  mine  with  a  smile ! 


89 


HYMN  OF  LABOR 

I  HE  world  was  made  with  labor: 

Strong  fusing  air  and  fire 
Strove  before  the  years  had  birth, 

With  awful  deed  and  dire, 
And  wrought  from  primal  chaos 

Amidst  the  ancient  night, 
The  seas  and  shores  which  are  the  earth, 
And   shapes  of  morning  light. 

Yea,  bound  in  frenzied  orbits, 

The  solar  substance  sped 
With   travail  of  the  moons  and  stars, 

And  planets  live  and  dead; 
And  wombed  and  birthed  in  anguish, 

As  heirs  of  all  its  toil, 
Earth's  vale  and  hill  and  ribs  of  rock, 

And  the  rivers  in  her  soil. 


90 


HYMN  OF  LABOR 

Life   was   formed   by  labor : 

From  out  the  bubbling  ooze, 
By  cosmic  ferment  molded  well, 

And  tropic  suns  and  dews, 
With  stress  of  chemic  struggle 

Were  built  with  warding  care 
The  potent  powrers  of  earth  and  sea, 

And  the  wings  of  all  the  air. 

Yea,  through  the  mystic  process 

Of  crystallizing  form. 
To  green  growths  sprung  across  the  land, 

And  bloods  of  cold  and  warm, 
The  vital  stream  of  being 

In  flooding  effort  swirled. 
And  beast  and  bird  and  swimming  fish 

Made  animate  the  world. 

Man  was  wrought  by  labor : 

Fierce  things  of  growth  and  might, 
Where    warring    species   held    their    sway, 

Keen-eared  and  clear  of  sight ; 
Toiled  in  craft  and  cunning 

And  strength  of  ripening  brain, 
Till  rose  the  form  that  grasped  the  world 

And  made  it  his  domain. 


91 


HYMN  OF  LABOR 

Yea,  with  red  feud  and  ravage 

Of  saber  tooth  and  claw, 
With  banding  of  the  pack  for  might 

And  rilled  or  starving  maw ; 
From  floundering  saurian's  welter, 

Through  grin  and  screech  of  ape, 
Struggled  the  deathless  seed  of  life 

Up  to  a  human  shape. 

And  man  hath  made  with  labor: 

From  his  wild  primal  hour, 
Potent  in  transforming  deeds, 

He  hath  wed  will  to  power; 
Through  war  and  peace  untiring, 

To  industry  and  art, 
Spending  the  might  of  all  his  thought 

And  the  hope  of  all  his  heart. 

Yea,  tried  in  stress  of  effort 

And  passions  wise  and  vain, 

His  zeal  hath  gathered  wisdom's  seed 

From  fruits  of  joy  and  pain. 
His  millioned  cities  echo; 

His  ships  have  pathed  the  sea; 
And  with  bent  brows  he  toils  to  make 

The  world  that  yet  will  be. 


TO  THE  MASTERS 

yOU  drive  your  beasts   of  burden   forth   to 

drink? 
You  herd  your  oxen,  each  one  to  his  stall ; 
You  whip  and  goad  until  they  heed  your  call? 
You  own,  and  use?    Are  these  your  cattle? 

Think ! 
Although   the   while  they   cringe  to   you   and 

shrink, 
And  watch  their  fate  in  your  least  finger-fall, 
Mistake  not,  lest  they  rise  and  ravage  all, 
And  your  vast  piled-up  power  to  chaos  sink ! 


The  earthquake  gives  slight  time  to  ward  its 

shock ; 
But  racks  the  earth,   nor  warns  of  where  or 

when ; 
The  hurricane,  that  makes  the  city  rock, 
Speaks  not  with  previous  voice  unto  your  ken ; 
Vesuvius  and  ^Etna  horror  mock, 
And  tidal  waves.    Think :  these  you  crush  are 

Men! 


93 


THE  ROISTERING  KNIGHTS 

YVfE'VE  won  the  castle,  Knights  at  Arms 

They  who  were  here  have  fled ; 
And  Fate,  which  keepeth  us  from  harms, 

Hath  made  it  ours  instead. 
But  hie  not  to  tell  Court  and  King, 

Who  dream  our  battles  clang; 
Let  us  rejoice  and  feast  and  sing, 

And  King  and  Court  may  hang; 
May  hang; 

And  King  and  Court  may  hang ! 


Now  bring  wine  flagons  to  the  board, 

And  serve  good  meat  around. 
Each  weary  knight  unbelt  his  sword 

And  cast  it  on  the  ground. 
You,  young  Esquire,  roar  out  a  song; 

And  let  the  sweet  lute  twang; 
We'll  rest  ourselves,  or  right  or  wrong 

And  King  and  Court  may  hang; 
May  hang; 

And  King  and  Court  may  hang! 


94 


THE  ROISTERING  KNIGHTS 

Much  have  we  done  for  Court  and  King; 

What  give  they  in  return? 
Our  lives  such  deem  a  little  thing 

While  they  new  pleasures  learn. 
Oft  did  they  dance  and  sing  and  quaff 

When  far  our  battle  rang; 
Let  us  win  pleasure  now,  and  laugh ; 

And  King  and  Court  may  hang; 
May  hang; 

And  King  and  Court  may  hang! 


I  think  betimes  we  are  but  slaves ; 

And  how  is  it  with  you? 
I  feel  anon  that  we  are  knaves 

Another's  will  to  do. 
T  doubt  we  need  a  King,  or  Court; — 

Ah,  sharp  is  memory's  fang! 
Our  sorrows  die  while  we're  at  sport ; 

And  King  and  Court  may  hang; 
May  hang; 

And  King  and  Court  may  hang! 


95 


THE  ROISTERING  KNIGHTS 

Who  always  would  his  armor  wear? 

Who  always  hold  a  lance? 
This  day  a  truce  to  fight  we  swear; 

Our  foes  are  far  as  France. 
Up  with  the  cup,  my  Comrades  all! 

Each  heart  forget  its  pang. 
We'll  pledge  to  joy  whate'er  befall, 

And  King  and  Court  may  hang; 
May  hang; 

And  King  and  Court  may  hang ! 


96 


SO  COLD! 

j/YfAMA,  why  don't  we  get  up; 

Why  do  we  sleep  all  day? 
I  want  my  warm  milk  and  some  bread, 

And  then  I'll  run  and  play. 
Mama,  light  the  fire;  please,  please! 

When  Papa  comes  he'll  scold. 
See,  Mama,  how  the  windows  freeze; 

And  I'm  so  cold,  so  cold ! 

Mama,  have  my  new  shoes  come, 

And  a  little  warmer  dress  ? 
The  other  children,  they've  got  theirs ; 

They'll  like  them  now,  I  guess. 
Mama,  shall  I  light  the  fire? 

I  can;  I'm  six  years  old. 
Mama,  you  won't  answer  me, 

Oh,  I'm  so  cold,  so  cold ! 


97 


SO  COLD! 

Mama,  hear  the  whistles  now ; 

Can't  we  get  out  of  bed? 
Oh,  Mama,  your  geranium 

Has  turned  all  black;  it's  dead! 
Mama,  where's  your  wedding  ring, 

All  made  of  shiny  gold? 
Mama,  you  don't  love  your  girl  ; 

And  I'm  so  cold,  so  cold! 

Mama,  I  am  hungry  now; 

I'll  tell  you  just  once  more. 
You  know  we  need  our  milk  and  bread ; 

We'll  buy  some  at  the  store. 
And  just  a  little  way  down  there 

Is  where  the  coal  is  sold. 
I'll  stay  in  bed  and  wait  for  you, 

Oh,  I'm  so  cold,  so  cold! 

Mama,  why  don't  Papa  come? 

When  he  kissed  us  good-by 
He  went  out  for  "little  while" — 

Poor  Mama;  now,  don't  cry; 
I'll  be  good.    When  Papa  comes 

I'll  tell  him  not  to  scold. 
Mama,  take  me  in  your  arms ; 

Oh,  I'm  so  cold,  so  cold ! 


98 


THE  VOICELESS  LYRE 

Vl/HO  hath  seen,  where  roses  bloom, 
Beauty  sent  to  sudden  doom 
By  the  storm,  with  thunder  knell, 
Which   from  the  blue  sky  strangely  fell- 
Who  knows  what  ruin  there  may  be, 
Let  him  hearken  now  to  me. 


Poets,  born  full  in  the  smile 
Of  Nature,  may  not  know  the  while, 
The  wind  of  scorn,  the  flood  of  blame, 
Contempt,  neglect,  unearned  shame, 
That  fall  like  storm  upon  the  flower, 
To  blast  them  in  greed's  iron  hour. 


Thou,  who,  when  the  gladdening  song 
Sounds  no  more,  awaitest  long 
That  rapture  and  that  melody, 
Deeming  not  that  they  could  die — 
Wait  no  more,  nor  count  the  hours; 
Think  of  storms  and  ruined  flowers. 


99 


TO    FAUSTA 

I  F  thou  wouldst  find  and  hold  the  best 
Of  all  that  life  can  give, 
Wouldst  still  the  questions  in  thy  breast- 
If  thou  wouldst  truly  live, 
Go,  search  the  world  for  pleasure.    Up ! 

Range  wide,  o'er  land  and  seas, 
Till  life  shall  pall,  a  splendid  cup 
Drunk  to  the  bitter  lees. 


Then,  then  return;  and  haply  there, 

Where  first  thy  quest  began, 
Thy  soul's  own  voice  shall  reach  thine  ear ; 

"Behold,  thou  art  a  man ! 
Go  forth  for  weal  of  human  life: 

Toil  with  the  toiling  throng! 
Thou  only  liv'st  in  noble  strife; 

But  there,  art  glad  and  strong!" 


100 


ROSE  AND  LILY 

|^  OSE  and  Lily,  little  maids, 
Wisely  were  they  named. 
He  surely  had  a  prophet's  aids, 

And  should  as  one  be  famed. 
Who  saw  them  in  their  mother's  arms 

Ere  they  had  strength  to  creep, 
And  conjuring  with  spells  and  charms, 

Found  them  names  to  keep. 


Coming,  going,  night  or  morn, 

Resting,  or  at  play, 
Still  as  made  for  them  are  worn 

Their  names,  for  all  must  say, 
Rose  is  like  the  blushing  rose — 

Red  cheeks,  dark  eyes  and  hair; 
While  Lily  like  the  lily  grows, 

Tall  and  very  fair. 


101 


INVOCATION 

N  IGHT  bird  in  thy  bower, 
Sing,  sing  me  a  song. 

Give  joy  for  an  hour, 
For  sorrow  is  long ; 
As  long  as  the  life  that  we  live  here,  and  only 
dark  death  is  more  strong. 


Sing  softly  and  low; 

Like  the  voice  of  a  stream, 
Or  the  music  we  know 
In  the  depths  of  a  dream: 
The  sweetest  of  all  things  unreal,  the  rarest  of 
raptures  that  seem. 


Sing  memoried  peace; 

Chant  love's  tender  might. 
Sing,  sing,  and  not  cease 
Till  thou  thrillest  the  night. 
And  all  the  soft  airs  move  atremble,  responsive 
to  purest  delight! 


102 


INVOCATION 

And  my  life  shall  be  stilled 
%  As  a  babe  on  the  breast, 

While  desire  is  fulfilled 
By  visions  most  blest, 
And    ecstacies     nameless    but    glowing,     which 
haunt  where  the  heart  knoweth  best. 


I  ask  not  for  thought ; 
I  plead  not  to  know ; 
For  my  being  is  wrought 
With  the  truth  that  brings  woe: 
By  all  of  the  wisdom  wdiich  helps  not,  save  by 
teaching  hope  how  to  forego. 


Nay,  joy  may  not  live 

If  thought  lingers  near. 
Thy  music  now  give, 
Kind  bird,  to  mine  ear ; 
And    ever    its    cadence    shall    soothe    me    from 
thought  and  its  pangs  while  I  hear. 


103 


INVOCATION 

The  dew  bathes  the  grass, 

And  the  wind  cools  the  tree ; 
Hast  thou  nothing,  alas, 
Hast  thou  nothing  for  me? 
I,  who  wait  for  thy  cadence  at  twilight,  and 
offer  my  spirit  to  thee? 


The  moon  comes  not  yet, 

But  the  stars  are  white  fire, 
And  fitly  are  met 

With  the  soul  of  desire. 
'Tis  the  time  for  thy  song,   oh,  my  poet,  who 
touchest  a  heavenly  lyre. 


Ah,  gladness  !    Remain ! 

Ah,  melody  mine! 
Again,  yet  again, 
Thou  singer  divine: 
My  soul  is  as  though  thou  hadst  made  it;  the 
glad  tears  I  weep  now  are  thine! 


104 


A  WARNING 

|J  NCROWN   while   ye   may,   ye    Rulers   and 
Kings; 
Hide  your  heads  from  the  wrath  to  be : 
Time  hath  in  store  for  ye  bitter  things! 

Hear  ye  the  echo  of  pain  as  it  rings? 

'Tis  the  voice  of  those  who  will  yet  be  free. 
Uncrown  while  ye  may,  ye  Rulers  and  Kings. 

Men   endure   your   laughter,    your    taunts    and 
stings ; 
But  be  not  loud  in  your  jubilee : 
Time  hath  in  store  for  ye  bitter  things! 


For  Wrath  cometh  near ;  and  the  wind  of  her 
wings 
Is  heard  in  the  air  as  the  sound  of  the  sea! 
Uncrown  while  ye  may,  ye  Rulers  and  Kings. 


105 


A  WARNING 

"Surely,"  ye  whisper,  "Man  but  clings 

To  his  customs,  and  sleeps."    So  it  is  with  ye. 
Time  hath  in  store  for  ye  bitter  things! 


When  man  his  servitude  from  him  flings 

And  bursts  his  bonds,  will  ye  think  to  flee? 
Uncrown  while  ye  may,  ye  Rulers  and  Kings ; 
Time  hath  in  store  for  ye  bitter  things! 


10(> 


IN  A  CITY  GRAVEYARD 

[  HE  yellow  grass  is  short  and  thin ; 

Grey-brown  the  ivies  coil; 

The  fume-choked  trees  yield  little  green 

To  the  gardener's  hopeless  toil  ; 
And   there   are   no   flowers,   for   they   could   not 
bloom 
Upon  the  sickly  soil. 

'Tis  a  tiny  square  between  two  streets 

Where  a  human  river  falls, 
And  the  city's  turbid  current  beats 

As  in  strife  against  its  walls; 
Where  the  dead  are  crowded  in  their  tombs, 

And  know  not  what  befalls. 

The  pall  of  fog  and  sulphurous  smoke 

It  droops  down  through  the  air 
Like  a  cloud  of  grief  on  a  worn-out  heart, 

Too  stunned  to  feel  or  care. 
It  droops  and  drifts  till  it  hides  the  sun, 

That  strives  to  dispell  it  there. 


107 


IN  A  CITY  GRAVEYARD 

The  birds  they  live  where  skies  are  blue, 

For  they  cannot  carol  here. 
They  never  come,  when  the  spring  is  new, 

Their  nests  of  young  to  rear; 
And  you   cannot  hark   to  their  happiness 

When  the  dawn  of  day  is  near. 

The  city  shoulders  the  little  plot 

And  hems  it  in  its  place; 
The  roar  of  traffic  fills  the  spot 

And  would  not  give  it  grace ; 
And  greed  casts  short  and  envious  looks, 

As  measuring  its  space. 

And  all  is  damp  and  dark  and  cold, 
And  the  stones  lean  left  and  right. 

The  graveled  walks  are  green  with  mould 
And   gruesome   to   the   sight. 

But  the  rails  that  crust  with  crinkled  rust, 
They  shut  the  dead  in  tight. 

They  shut   the   dead   in   where   there   comes 

No  gush  of  clover  meth. 
They  shut  the  dead  in  from  the  sky 

And  from  the  summer's  breath. 
They  shut  the  dead  in  by  themselves, 

To  die  a  double  death. 


108 


IN  A  CITY  GRAVEYARD 

They  die  twice   o'er  who,  covered  here, 

In  noxious  being  lie; 
Where  dust  may  scarce  return  to  dust 

While  all  the  years  go  by. 
Yes,  those  who  hide  them  in  their  holes 

Condemn  the  dead  to  die. 

For  those  who  lie  where  winds  are  fresh, 
And  where  the  heavens  are  blue, 

They  live  again  in  flowers,  or  trees, 
Or   meadows    sweet   with   dew. 

Yes,  nature  takes  them  to  herself 
And  forms  their  lives  anew. 

The  rivers  run,  the  green  hills  rise, 

The  harvests  ripen  there; 
The  goodly  rain  falls  from  the  skies: 

All  things   are   free  from  care; 
And  worn  things  die  and  new  things  live, 

And   growth   is   everywhere. 

But  those  who  lie  where  city  streets 

Halt  and  close  them  round, 
They  lie  like  stones  that  do  not  change 

But  cumber  all  the  ground. 
They  lie  and  shrivel  in  their  shrouds, 

By  alien  fetters  bound. 


109 


IN  A  CITY  GRAVEYARD 

They  lie,  dry  clay  in  earth  as  dry, 

Refused   by   hardened  men 
A  home  in  the  earth  which  gave  them  birth 

And  would  welcome  them  back  again: 
With  brick  and  iron  and  stone  hemmed  round 

As  in  some  prison  pen. 

It  is  a  dreadful  life  to  live 

In  the  cruel  city's  hold; 
For  hope  and  faith  soon  falter  there 

And  love  itself  grows  cold ; 
And  simple  trust  is  turned  to  lust 

As  it  hears  the  lie  of  gold. 

It  is  a  dreadful  place  to  live 

Where  men  no  kindness  learn, 
But  only  breathe   for  the  thought  of  gain, 

Each  taking  the  gambler's  turn; 
And  wildly  win,  and  madly  lose, 

Till  their  hearts  to  ashes  burn. 

It  is  a  fearful  place  to  live 

Where  men   go  thronging  by 
With  nerveless  haste  in  every  step 

And  hunger  in  each  eye ; 
It  is  a  sorry  place  to  live, 

— But  what  a  place  to  die! 


110 


IN  A  CITY  GRAVEYARD 

To  die  amidst  the  roar  and  rush, 
Where  God  Gold  grinds  the  street, 

And  knows  no  resting  and  no  hush 
Nor  sunset  shadows  sweet, 

But  only  sighs  and  raucous  cries 
Where  waves  of  commerce  beat. 

To  die,  and  lie  in  this  cursed  ground, 

Where   nothing   fair   is   met; 
Where  never  sounds  a  pleasant  sounds 

Nor   flower   of   life   is   set; 
To  die  with  but  one  good  last  thought — 

That  to  die  is  to  forget. 

Come  greed,  come  Mammon ;  it  is  yours ; 

Stretch  close  your  measures   o'er, 
And  pile  the  walls  which  guard  your  gold 

Thrice  higher  than  before. 
Nay,  let  this  mock  of  life  and  death 

Be  seen  not  any  more! 

Build  till  your  streets  are  dim  in  shade; 

Heap  wealth  until  it  rust ; 
Strive  while  the  better  things  of  life 

Are  laughed  at  in  their  dust. 
Hoard  till  your  poisoned  heart  and  brain 

Are  wearied  with  their  lust! 


Ill 


IN  A  CITY  GRAVEYARD 

Then  let  a  newer  world  be  born, 

Well  worthy  of  mankind ; 
With  room  to  hope,  with  room  to  love; 

With  place  for  heart  and  mind. 
With  space  to  live,  with  space  to  die, 

And  no  good  left  behind! 


112 


COURAGE,  MY  HEART 

£OURAGE,  my  heart,  amidst  the  battle  here! 

Ever  its  winter  season  hath  the  year; 
Rouse,  rouse  thyself,  and  fight  on  without  fear ; 
At  last  the  flowered  springtime  will  appear. 
Courage,   my   heart ! 


Courage,  my  heart,  and  fail  not  in  the  fight! 
The   day   is   struggling   in   the   bonds   of   night ; 
Yield  not  one  step ;  nay,  dare  all  with  thy  might ; 
The  hours  are  counted  that  shall  bring  the  light. 
Courage,    my   heart ! 


Courage,   my  heart,   and  let  deed   follow   deed! 
Slow  is  the  increase  of  the  long-sown  seed ; 
Hear  no  dark  words,  and  no  forebodings  heed ; 
The  harvest  days  will  come  and  bring  their  meed. 
Courage,   my   heart ! 


113 


COURAGE,  MY  HEART 

Courage,  my  heart,  strive  on  for  mastery! 
The  winds  and  waves  have  strength  upon  the  sea ; 
Remember  that  thou  hast  been  bold  and  free ; 
The  ship  at  length  shall  in  its  harbor  be. 
Courage,   my   heart! 

Courage,  my  heart,    and    be  thou   staunch  and 

strong ! 
The  things  are  many    which    would  work  thee 

wrong; 
Beat  bravely  now,  and  breast  thy  foes  in  throng ; 
For  thou  shalt  triumph.     Sing  the  victor's  song! 
Courage,   my   heart ! 


114 


WARRIOR  TRUTH 

11/  ITH   proof's   linked   armor   on   thy  breast, 
And  words   like   swords   to  ward   thee 
well, 
And  shield  of  daring,  that  can  tell 
Of  all  the  strifes  which  thou  hast  pressed, 
Alert  and  ever  without  rest, 
Fronting  the  false  I  see  thee  wait, 
The  fire  of  challenge  in  thy  heart 
And  in  thine  eye  the  look  of  fate. 


Or  friendless  'neath  the  colder  stars, 
Or  pilloried  in  the  sun's  hot  glow, 
Or  vile  betrayed  by  Judas  foe, 
Or  bound  and  gagged  behind  steel  bars, 
Or  swathing  round  thy  cruel  scars, 
Or  bleeding,  with  life  pouring  fast, 
Thy  spirit  none  could  overwhelm 
Through  all  thy  countless  combats  past. 

115 


WARRIOR  TRUTH 

Nay,  thou  art  mightier  than  the  might 
Of  every  form  of  legioned  lies ; 
Vaster  in  strength  than  hills  that  rise 
And  pierce  the  heavens  with  their  height 
Greater  than  day  or  than  the  night; 
Triumphant  from  thy  first  drawn  breath, 
Till  torture  hears  thy  battle  song 
Immortal  on  the  lips  of  death! 


116 


LABOR'S  TRAGEDY 

p*OR  tragedy  seek  not  the  mimic  stage; 

Look  thou  on  men  who  fall  'neath  Plutus' 
gyves ; 
These,     robbed     of    manhood,     hunger's     battle 
wage, 
Giving    for    beggars'    crusts    their    beggared 
lives ! 


117 


TO  MY  COUNTRY 

j 

A   M ERICA,  who  foughtst  one  tyrant  down, 
And  paid  thy  blood  until  thy  slaves  were 
freed, 
Lo!   thou   hast   wrought   full   good   in   many  a 

deed 
Of  liberty,  nor  trusted  king  or  crown. 
There  have  been  lapses  ;  on  thine  high  renown 
Dark   stains   are   dyed ;   but   thy   true   sons,   thy 

seed, 
Who  to  thy  grandeur  harken   with  glad  heed, 
Weep   at  thy  sins,   and   o'er   each   folly   frown. 

Now   wilt   thou   strike   this   monster,   Mammon, 

dead, 
That  blinds  a  people  as  kings  did  of  old. 
Nay,  though  the  tempter  sue  thee,  tireless,  bold, 
Be  not  to  shame  and  sin  and  darkness  wed; 
But  with  thine  hosts,  on  love  of  freedom  fed, 
Arise,  and  end  the  tyranny  of  gold ! 


118 


WHAT  SHALL  IT  PROFIT  A  MAN? 

117HAT  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  shall  gain 
the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul ; 
Shall  sell  all  he  is,  save  his  might  and  the  lusts 
of  the  flesh,   for  mere  glittering  dole? 


Which  of  his  countless  possessions  shall  equal 
and  pay  for  the  loss  he  abides, 

For  the  just  sense  of  truth,  and  innocent  hopes 
of  good  hap,  and  worthiest  prides? 

Who  would  give  his  good  feelings,  pure 
thoughts,  clean  purposes  sure,  the  clear- 
ness within, 

For  the  tithes  of  black  evil,  the  interest  of 
falsehood  and  pillage,  the  wages  of  sin? 


119 


WHAT  SHALL  IT  PROFIT  A  MAN? 

How  can  one  find  him  delight  in  the  counting 
of  gold  and  the  measure  of  lands, 

While  he  may  not  go  forth  with  true  kindness 
at  heart  of  his  heart,  and  good  deeds  in 
his   hands? 


When  shall  it  seem  to  him  well  that  his  tribute 
comes  quick  and  his  coffers  are  sure, 

As  he  sees  haggard  hunger  stalk  by  and  the 
look  of  dismay  in  the  eyes  of  the  poor? 


Whom  shall  he  look  to  for  friendship  or  for 
comradely  words  through  the  lengthen- 
ing years, 

While  the  power  of  his  will  upon  men  shall  but 
teach  them  to  watch  in  hatreds  and 
fears  ? 


Whence  may  peace  come  to  him  smiling,  and 
bid  him  have  rest,  with  his  burden  made 
light, 

Nor  the  hours  of  his  sleep  still  torture  and  tear 
with  remorse  in  the  midst  of  the  night? 


120 


WHAT  SHALL  IT  PROFIT  A  MAN? 

Where  shall  he  flee  that  his  brand  as  of  Cain 
shall  be  hidden  nor  seen  any  more, 

And  the  ghosts  of  his  love  and  his  trust  shall 
not  rise  from  their  graves,  and  accuse 
o'er  and  o'er? 

Why  shall  he  wish,  then,  to  live,  or  have  hope 
of  himself,  or  seek  any  goal — 

What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  shall  gain  the 
whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul? 


121 


A  CAGED  BIRD'S   SONG 

SIT  and  I  sing  with  unmoved  wing; 

But  though  these  be  golden  prison  bars, 
Oft  I  am  sad  when  you  think  me  glad, 

With   thoughts   of   the   air   and   the   sun   and 

stars. 

I  long  to  be  free ;  and  your  love  for  me 
Is  stained  with  the  wish  to  hold  me  here. 

When  I  dream  I  could  stay,  still  I  must  obey; 
For  you  trust  me  not,  and  your  heart  is  fear. 

I  cannot  forget  if  I  would — and  yet — 
I  should  love  you  well  if  you  loved  me  more. 

Now  I  sit  and  I  wait  for  an  unlocked  gate, 
Then  out  into  sunshine  to  sing  and  to  soar! 

If  you  cage  me  and  hold  till  my  wings  grow 
old, 
I  shall  not  be  yours,  whatever  your  art: 
With    this    longing   of    mine    I    shall   pine    and 
pine; 
You  will  have  my  body,  but  never  my  heart! 


122 


THE   BABY'S   SMILE 

THE  baby's  smile,  so  strangely  sweet, 

It  makes  me  wish,  the  while, 
For  worlds  where  I  should  ever  meet 
The  baby's  smile. 

Born  of  pure  joy;  so  free  from  guile: 

Flower  of  a  heart  whose  beat 
Is  ever  true  midst  good  and  vile. 

Where  men  go  masked,  white  with  deceit, 

Where  shameless  deeds  defile, 
One    thing    shows    flawless   and    complete- 
The  baby's  smile! 


123 


PLACE  de  la  CONCORDE 

(PARIS) 

I  O  the  roll  of  a  drum 

See  the  tumbrels  come, 
In  irony's  parade; 

Each  cart  with  a  crew 
Whose  brows  drip  dew, 
Whose  cheeks  to  ashes   fade. 

'Tis  the  sun  of  day: 

Night  fades  away, 
And  the  breeze  flows  freshly  by; 

The  song  of  a  bird 

O'erhead  is  heard, 
But  these  are  doomed  to  die ! 

With  a  curse  and  a  frown 

They  bid  them  down, 
Each  for  his  turn  to  wait; 

And  none  stands  long, 

Of  weak  or  strong, 
For  death  has  lust  to  sate. 

124 


PLACE  de  la  CONCORDE 

See!     Necks  are  bared, 

And  the  blade  prepared 
Which  rolls  good  heads  in  the  mud. 

The   guillotine 

It  is  quick  and  keen, 
For  it  loves  to  taste  warm  blood. 

And  the  killer  who  works, 

He  stoops  and  jerks, 
And  lifts  a  lump  on  high, 

And  dangles  a  head, 

Alive,  though  dead, 
With  its  slowly  closing  eye. 

A  score  lie  still ; 

And  the  mob,  at  will, 
Shrieks    vengeance   or    despair. 

Hark:  hear  the  mash 

Of  the  feet  asplash 
In  the  gory  runnels  there! 

They  come,  they  come, 
Bound,  gagged,  and  dumb; 

And  murder  waits.  .  .  .  What !  .  .  .  Oh ! 
'Tis  the  fountain's  plash  ;— 
And  its  crystal  splash; — 

And  the  water's  dripping  flow. 

125 


PLACE  de  la  CONCORDE 

'Tis  the  carriage  wheels; — 
And  the  muffled  peals 

Of  a  bell  struck  far  away; — 
And  the  people  clad 
For  a  fete,  and  glad 

With  the  joy  of  a  holiday. 

Tis  a  lofty  stone, 

That  stands  alone, 
And  not  death's  dread  machine, 

In   a   little   plot 

Which  marks  the  spot 
Where   stood   the  guillotine. 


And  the  Place  shines  fair 

In  the  springtime  air, 
And  the  chestnut  blossoms  blow- 

Twas  another  day, 

In  the  far-away 
Of  six  score  years  ago ! 


They  died  for  pride; 

For  truth  they  died ; 
They  died  for  good,  and  ill; 

But  though  their  pain 

Lives  not  again, 
Their  memories  bleed  here  still. 

126 


TO  THE  ENEMIES  OF  FREE  SPEECH 

A  S  well  to  lay  your  hands  upon  the  sun 

And  try  with  bonds  to  bind  the  morning 
light; 
As  well  on  the  four  winds  to  spend  your  might; 
As  well  to  strive  against  the  streams  that  run; 
As  well  to  bar  the  seasons,  bid  be  done 
The   rain  which   falls ;   as   well  to  blindly  fight 
Against  the  air,  and  at  your  folly's  height 
Aspire  to  make  all  power  that  is  be  none. 

As  well  to  do  all  this  as  to  impeach 

Man's  tongue,  and  bid  it  answer  to  the  schools; 

As  well  to  do  all  this,  as  give  us  rules, 

And  bid  us  hold  our  words  within  your  reach; 

As  well  all  this,  as  try  to  chain  man's  speech. 

So  others  learned  before  ye  lived,  O  fools! 


127 


THE  RED  FLAG 

JjANNER  of  crimson  waving  there, 

Thou  shalt  have  full  homage  from  me ; 
First  among  flags  thou  gleamest  fair. 

Symbol  of  love  and  of  life  made  free. 
The   nations   have   chosen   standards   of   state 

To  flaunt  to  the  winds  since  time  began; 
Emblems  of  rivalry,  pride  and  hate ; 

But  thou  art  the  flag  of  the  world,  of  MAN. 

i 

Red  as  the  blood  of  freedom's  dead, 

Thy  hues  might  well  have  flowed  from  their 
veins. 
Red  as  the  one  blood  of  man  is  red, 

Holy  thou  art  in  thy  sanguine  stains. 
Holy  as  truth  and  holy  as  right; 

Sacred  as  wisdom  and  sacred  as  love; 
Worthy  the  rapture  that  lifted  to  light 

Thy   glorious   shape   where   it   ripples   above. 


128 


THE  RED  FLAG 

Unto  the  spirit  of  friendliness 

Thou  wast  fashioned,  to  comfort  man's  hun- 
gry thought; 
To  shine  for  the  deeds  that  alone  can  bless, 

And  the  life  of  brotherhood  nobly  wrought. 
Unto  the  spirit  that  rends  the  gyves 

And  shatters  the  bonds  that  make  men  slaves ; 
The  spirit  that  suffers  and  sinks  and  strives, 

Till  it  strengthens  hope,  till  it  lifts  and  saves. 

Thou  art  no  new  thing;  thou  hast  waved  from 
of  old. 
Thou    hast    seen   the   day   be   born    from   the 
night ; 
And   hast   streamed   for   truth   where   the   truth 
was  bold 
As  time  fled  on  to  the  future's  light. 
Beyond  all  the  seas,  on  many  a  shore, 

Thou  hast  buttressed  the  heart  and  stiffened 
the  hand 
To  struggle  for  fellowship  o'er  and  o'er, 

From  the  youth  to  the  age  of  the  eldest  land. 


129 


THE  RED  FLAG 

Thou  hast  called  to  battle!     Yea,  thou  hast  led 

Where  men  have   followed,  forgetting  fears; 
And  hast  solaced  the  dying,  and  graced  the  dead, 

Stained  with  blood  and  with  dust  and  tears — 
Blood,  a  full  tribute  paid  for  peace; 

Tears  shed  free  o'er  humanity's  wrongs, 
While  faith  in  thy  cause,  that  could  never  cease, 

Met  tyranny's   swords,   and   fell,   singing  thy 
songs. 


As  thou  art  loved,  thou  art  loathed,  full  well; 
Loathed   and  cursed   by   the  lords   of  power. 
Ever  they  name  thee  the  flag  of  hell, 
And  rage  in  the  fear  of  thy  triumph  hour. 
But   their   grasp   grows    weak   on   the   wills   of 
men; 
Their  armies  falter ;  their  guns  are  rust ; 
As   from   prison,   and   labor   and   poverty's   den 
Thy  hosts  speak  NO  to  their  crumbling  lust. 


130 


THE  RED  FLAG 

See!     Now  there  greet  thee  ten  million  eyes, 

And  lips  uncounted  smile  to  thy  red. 
Yes,  those  who  bow  to  thy  crimson  dyes, 

Are  myriads  more  than  all  of  thy  dead. 
Lo !   The  young  clap  hands  at  thy  bright  unrest ; 

And  the  child  in  arms  it  leaps  in  its  glee. 
Nay,  babes  unborn,   'neath  the  mother's  breast, 

Are  given  and  pledged  to  thy  cause  and  thee! 

Banner  of  freedom,  and  freedom's  peace, 

Float  in  thy  beauty,  in  sign  of  the  day 
When    ravage    of    power    and    conquest    shall 
cease, 

And  mouldering  tyranny  pass  away. 
Who  would  not  all   for  thy  promise  give? 

As   I   gaze  on   thy   folds   one  wish  have  I — 
To  love  thee  and  honor  thee  while  I  live, 

And  fold  thee  around  me  when  I  must  die! 


131 


IN   THE  HOUR  OF   EXECUTION 

I S    this    what    we    must    bear,    O    Freedom, 
Mother, 
To  see  thy  face  and  but  to  touch  thy  hand? 
Is   there  no   easier   way? 
Must  death  another  take,  and  yet  another, 
While    tears    and    lamentations    through    the 
land 

Show  the  great  price  we  pay? 
Yet,  if  it  must  be,  Freedom,  none  say  nay. 

See,    Thou,   these    waiting     for    the   hangman's 
halter ; — 
These   friends   of   man,   must  these  be  given 
to  death? 

Freedom,  we  ask  again! 
If  in  the  sacrifice  we  do  not  falter, 
Wilt     thou     repay     us     for     their     strangled 
breath  ? 

Wilt  thou  come  nearer  men? 
Thou   wilt,   we   hope.     With    groans    we   give 
these,  then. 


132 


IN   THE  HOUR  OF  EXECUTION 

The  debt  is  paid! — Thy  martyrs  lie  before  us, 
Their   mute   lips    speak    thy    words    into   our 
ears, 

And  bid   us   seek  thee   far. 
Freedom,  we  know  thy  sun  shall  yet  shine  o'er 
us; 
And  looking  up,  exalted,   through  our  tears, 
We  cry,  beneath  thy  star, 
"Take   these!     Take   us,   if  need   be;   thine   we 
are!" 


m 


THE  ABANDONED  MILL 

LONG  has  it  hidden,  hushed  and  still, 

Beside  the   river  here. 
The  sagging  doors  swing  to  and  fro; 
The  roof  is  gone,  the  walls  are  low, 
And  half  in  dust  lie  beam  and  sill, 
Rain-wasted  many  a  year. 

You   hardly  find  it  where  it  stands 

And    slowly   crumbles    down, 
Vine-wreathed  and  circled  round  by  trees, 
Like  some  walled  garden  filled   with  ease, 
It  lies   up   the  verdant  lands, 

A  blur  of  mellow  brown. 

The  dam  that  pent  those  waters  tight 

No  labor  could  redeem. 
The  water  gates  they  lift  no  more, 
But  o'er  them  amber  waters  pour; 
And  the   flume   that   once   shaped  all   that 
might, 

Lies  buried  in   the   stream. 


134 


THE  ABANDONED  MILL 

They  left  the  city's  stony  street, 

Mid  profit's  might  and  sway, 
And    brought    the    worship    of    base    gold 
Where    green    lands    stretched    and    rivers 

rolled ; 
And  builded  here  beside  the  wheat, 

Among  the  flowers  of  May. 

They  builded  here.     They  choked  the  flood, 

'Their  turbines  sucked  it  through. 
The   stunned  woods   echoed   back  the   roar 
And  whine  of  shapes  that  picked  and  tore, 
And  spun  and  wove,  with  crash  and  thud, 
That  warp  and  woof  be  true. 

But  Nature  welcomed  not  their  din ; 

Her   virginal   clean   life 
Was   far  too  full  of  gentleness ; 
She  startled  at  their  noisome  stress ; 
As  though  her  heart  were  torn  within 

Bv  all  that  alien  strife. 


The  dyes  ran  turbid  from  the  vats, 

Polluting  all  the  air. 
They  stained  trie  waters  ghastly  green, 


135 


THE  ABANDONED  MILL 

And  scummed  the  pools  with  purple  sheen. 
The  fish  all  fled,  and  noxious  gnats 
Swarmed   cloud-like   everywhere. 


No ;  Nature  saw  her  own  depart, 

To  wait  in  sorrow  far. 
Her  pleasant  airs,  her  butterflies, 
Her  birds  that  gladdened  earth  and  skies, 
They  vanished,   and  she  felt  the  smart 

Like  an  unhealing  scar. 


She  set  her  borders  round  about, 
And  stayed  not  more  anear; 

Mourning  darker  days  begun, 

And   dreaming  on   sweet  seasons   done. 

Only  the  stream  clove  in  and  out, 
Through  lands  all  dead  and  sere. 

The  mill  roared  on  from  spring  to  fall, 
And   round  to   spring  again: 

Daily  the  sun  rose  in  the  sky, 

Yet  never  did  the  tumult  die. 

It   almost   seemed  men  would   forestall 
The  months,  nor  let  them  wane; 

13G 


THE  ABANDONED  MILL 

Forgetting  rest,  and  toiling  still, 
As  though  they  might  not  wait; 

As  if  to  struggle  were  the  end 

To  which  all  life  was  born  to  bend; 

The  iron  measure  of  the  will, 
The  very  law  of   fate. 

Full  hard  they  strove  by  day  and  night 

To  shape  their  produce  fair ; 
And  by  the  scores  the  young  and  strong, 
Man  and  maid  in  anxious  throng, 
Toiled  at  the  task  with  merging  might, 

Sore  wearied  with  their  care. 

Full   hard  they  strained  through   dust  and 
din, 

And   struggled   still   for  pelf; 
But  hour  by  hour  they  failed  to  hold 
Their   grasp   upon   the   hoarded   gold: 
Their   substance   piled   up   high   within, 

In  box,  in  bale,  on  shelf. 

No;  Mammon's  might  would  not  endure 

Save  where  the  cities  ward. 
They  could  not  barter  what  they  wrought, 


137 


THE  ABANDONED  MILL 

Nor  could  they  win  the  power  they  sought. 
They  could  not  make  their  profits  sure, 
Though  striving  long  and  hard. 


Upon  a  day  no  din  arose 

To  shame  the  rising  sun. 
No  winding  labor  plodding  down, 
Emptied  the  hillside  little  town ; 
And  each  man  spoke  as  one  who  knows 

That  wearying  tasks  are  done. 


No  smoke  fled  from  the  chimney  more ; 

No   stains   befouled   the   stream ; 
No  noxious  odors  choked  the  air 
And  left  the  spring  winds  poisoned  there 
And  rock  and  turf  and  wave  and  shore 

Seemed  waiting  in  a  dream. 

Yes,  that  great  voice  at  last  grew  still 

Upon  a  morn  in  May; 
And  there  the  owners  came  and  stood, 
Debating  over  mill  and  flood ; 
Disputing  on   their  venture,  till 

A   fortnight  passed  away. 


138 


THE  ABANDONED  MILL 

They   freed   the   stream;   they   stopped   the 
wheels  ; 

They  barred  the  portals  tight; 
They  covered  o'er,  as  though  in  tombs, 
The  silent   spindles,   cards   and  looms, 
The  shining  shuttles  and  the  reels, 

And    shuttered    out   the   light. 

And  thus  they  left  it,  with  their  host, 

To  come  not  back  again. 
They  left  it,  master,  artisan; 
They  left  it,  to  a  single  man. 
Long  years   it  stood,  the  mocking  ghost 

Of  all  their  labors  vain. 

Long,  long  it  stood;  they  came  not  back, 

And  none  remained  to  tell. 
The  floors  began  to  sag  and  sink; 
And  in  the  walls  showed  many  a  chink; 
And  every  chink  yawned  to  a  crack; 

Until  it,  crumbling,  fell. 

It  stood,  then   fell;   and  Nature  now, 

As  if  in  pity's  guise, 
Has  covered  o'er  the  walls  with  green, 


139 


THE  ABANDONED  MILL 

And    aisles    where    Mammon    walked    be- 
tween ; 
And  makes  it  all  her  own  somehow, 
Half   hidden    from   her   eyes. 

Gone  are  the  signs  of  price  and  pelf; 

Gone    every   usurer. 
The  wild  rose  blooms  atop  the  wall ; 
There  flutters  near  the  cardinal ; 
And  the  lizard  lies  and  suns  itself, 

And  harks  to  the  grasshopper. 

No  more  the  sweating  worker  strains 
Through  weary  rounds  of  toil: 

Not  here  he  wishes  day  were  done ; 

Not  here  he  sighs  at  set  of  sun, 

And  feels  the  blood  ache  in  his  veins 
Because  of  marring  moil. 

No  more  the  master  counts  his  hoard 

Or   reckons   on  his   loss ; 
Young  trees  are  springing  where  he  stood 
And  only  thought  of  his  own  good ; 
And  in  the  vault,  where  wealth  was  stored. 

The  floor  is  velvet  moss. 


140 


THE  ABANDONED  MILL 

The   steel' shapes   lie  in  blistering   rust; 

But  o'er  them,   for  a  sign, 
With    random   clasp   and   careless   grace, 
As  holding  them  in  half  embrace, 
Trailing  bright   trumpets   in   the   dust, 

Wild   honeysuckles   twine. 

And   murmering   bees    are   busy   here, 

And  rainbow  butterflies ; 
And  winds  go  wandering  to  and  fro 
With   softest  voice,  and  gently  blow; 
While  like  great  sails,  now  far,  now  near, 

White  clouds  float  in  blue  skies. 


The  children  play  beside  the  wave 
And  shout  all  glad  and  free; 

Startling  the  fish,  which  keep  them  cool 

In  many  a  deeper  channeled  pool ; 

And  cattle  stand  and  drink  and  lave 
With  woodland  liberty. 


The  pleasant  fields  anear  have  life, 

Where  farmers  stir  the  soil; 
Where  singing  plowmen  guide  their  shares, 


141 


THE  ABANDONED  MILL 

And  live  their  day  with  lightest  cares 
Not   serving  in   some  alien  strife, 
But  simple,   wholesome   toil. 

And  all  around  are  sun  and  shade 

And  the  river's  pleasant  voice. 
The  quiet  of  pure  harmony 
Upon  the  whole  earth  seems  to  lie 
From  morning  till  the  day  is  stayed, 
And  the  watching  stars  rejoice. 

It  is  an  ardent  hour  in  June, 

Of  wedded   earth   and   skies ; 
And  all  that  is  seems  wholly  blent, 
As   if  perfection  thus   were  spent: 
As  if  life  here  had  sought  a  boon, 
And  shaped  a  paradise. 


142 


IBSEN 

HT  HOU  warrior  who  hadst  for  captain,  Truth, 
Who,  reared  to  knightly  service,  shrank  at 
from  naught 
Of  all  the  deeds  whence  victory  is  wrought, 
But  stoutly  heldst  thine  own  in  age  and  youth, 
Thou  wast  indeed  of  those  whom  power  indu'th 
With  Titan  strength  ;  in  double  darkness  fraught 
With  giant  falsehoods  thy  long  fight  was  fought, 
But  these  found  in  thy  hand  no  touch  of  ruth. 

Now   is  the   end,   with   peace   unknown  before; 
For  Death  hath  come  and  said,  "Enough:  give 

o'er." 
Fold  then,  at  last,  thine  arms  across  thy  breast 
And  take  the  soldier's  well-earned  boon  of  rest; 
Which,  when   all  honor  his,  there  is  no  more, 
And  after  war's  long  ardor,  seemeth  best. 


143 


A  DESIRE 

LET  me  be  loved !    I  do  not  ask  for  fame, 

Or  grandeur  of  a  splendid  hollow  name 

Cut  deep  in  bronze  or  marble  to  forgetfulness ; 

Rather  than  be  a  Caesar,  Angelo, 

Or  Croesus  to  whom  seas  of  wealth  must  flow, 

I  would  be  one  that  all  his   fellow  men  might 

bless. 

The  Earth  grows  full  of  deeds  which  stagger 

thought, 
And  vast  achievements  unto  wonder  wrought — 
The  works  of  might  which  challenge  awe  or  bid 
us  fear ; 
But  what  are  such  to  acts  that  find  their  end 
In  giving  every  man  the  world  for  friend, 
And  bring  time's  best-of-gifts,  the  golden  age, 
more  near? 


144 


A  DESIRE 

Nay,  what  are  victories  over  land  and  sea, 
The  air  subdued,  invention's  mastery, 
Life's  means  increased,  and  each  gigantic  mar- 
velous plan; 
Nay,  what  are  all  the  triumphs  of  the  past 
Save  as  they  serve  to  form  one  race  at  last, 
And  merge  their  ripe  results  in  free  confederate 
man! 

Let  me  be  loved.     Yes,  give  to  me  his  heart 
Who  treasures  in  his  breast  the  artless  art 
To  put  one  wish,  one  word  on  every  living  lip ; 
Let  me  be  him,  and  have  his  gracious  mind, 
Whose  power  finds  fruits  in  arms  and  hearts 
entwined, 
Whose  monument  at  last  is  world-wide  fellow- 
ship. 


14-5 


TO  THE  COLD 

[\  O  more  your  lukewarm  praise  to  martyrs  give, 
Ye  men  who  drowse  while  warring-  worlds 
pass  by; 
These  men  faced  wrong  like  men,  and  died  to 
live, 
While  ye,  born  soulless,  do  but  live  to  die! 


146 


THE  AGITATOR 

VI/'HERE  hurrying  thousands  meet, 

And  pour  in  living  streams  on  either 
hand, 
Amidst  the  strident  street, 

With  set  and  stubborn  face  he  takes  his  stand, 
The  lesson  to  repeat 

Of  evil  days  and  acts  which  curse  the  land. 


Indifference  cools  him  not; 

And  jeers  and  blows  he  takes,  perchance, 
beside. 
Brave,  he  accepts  his  lot; 

At  worst  he  meets  it  with  a  martyr's  pride. 
To  bear,  he  knows  not  what, 

He  seeks  the  crowd  and  will  not  be  denied. 


147 


THE  AGITATOR 

His  voice  is  loud  and  strong, 

And  vigorous  gestures  add  their  potent  force, 
As  to  the  restless  throng 

He  pictures  clear  corruption's  crafty  course, 
Or  challenges  the  wrong, 

Which  in  some  unjust  privilege  finds  its 
source. 


A  true  son  of  the  soil, 

And  feeling,  as  the  hard-pressed  masses  feel, 
The  things  which  mar  and  spoil  , 

And  bind  life  down  with  bonds  as  strong  as 
steel, 
He  knows  the  men  who  toil, 

And  truth  to  these  he  can  most  clear  reveal. 


No  knotty  theories 

He  offers  to  the  listeners  who  attend, 
Or  generalities, 

Which  glitter  with  the  gilt  that  fine  words 
lend; 
He  sets  forth  what  he  sees 

So  simply  that  who  hears  can  comprehend. 


148 


THE  AGITATOR 

The  deep  philosopher, 

The  pedant  wise,  whose  wisdom  makes  him 
cold, 
Instructs,  but  cannot  stir 

The  heart  of  work,  whose  hope  is  tired  and 
old; 
But  this  one  strives  to  spur 

The  rebel  in  the  blood  and  make  it  bold. 


He  lifts  the  common  thought, 

And  e'en  the  common  heart  up  to  the  light ; 
Till,  by  his  teaching  wrought 

To  understand  their  wrongs  and  know  their 
might, 
Plain  men  at  last  are  brought 

To  rouse  in  truceless  struggle  for  the  right. 


149 


THE  CHALLENGE  OF  LIBERTY 

NOW,  Man,  Arouse  !  Awake  ! 

Put  the  sleep  from  off  thine  eyes ; 
At  last  the  Dark  of  Ages  dies. 
A  flush  mounts  in  the  eastern  skies; 

The  Morn  begins  to  break. 
Hear  thou,  Arise !  Arise  ! 

That  mad  dream  of  thy  Kind — 
The  dream  that  life  must  feed  on  fear ; 
That  man  to  man  may  draw  not  near; 
That  Thou  art  born  to  hatred  here — 

Nay,  put  it  out  of  mind. 
Be  thou  of  better  cheer! 


Let  thy  doubts  be  done. 
Master  and  Slave  shall  be  no  more ! 
Around  the  Earth,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Cry,  "Comrades,  come!    Time's  night  is  o'er!' 

Then  turn  and  greet  the  Sun, 
With  Glory  all  before ! 


150 


HIS  FIRST  SNOW 

I-IER  sweet  babe  laughs  where  he  lies 

At  the  snow  floating  down  from  the  skies. 
At  first  with  a  look  of  surprise 
He  gazed  at  the  thing  of  strange  guise ; 
Questioning;  making  replies; 
Brow-puckered,  to  criticise. 


He  exclaimed.     Then  we  saw  in  his  eyes 
An  expression  of  wondrous  surmise. 
Was  his  thought  that  some  hand  very  wise 
For  him  a  new  joy  did  devise? 
He  crowed,  and  attempted  to  rise. 
But  time,  unrelenting,  denies 
Strength  unto  forms  of  such  size ; 
So  he  stretches  his  hands  toward  the  skies 
And  looks  and  laughs  where  he  lies. 


151 


MAGDALENE  PASSES 

VI^  HAT  one  is  this,  that  bears  the  brand  of 
shame  within  her  breast, 

And  wanders  through  the  mocking  land,  de- 
nied a  place  of  rest? 

What  one  is  this,  your  hue  and  cry  pursue  with 
withering  hate, 

Until  her  best  hope  is  to  die,  nor  meet  a 
harder  fate? 

This,  this  is  she  who  hides  her  head  in  shame 
to  gloom  the  sun ; 

Who  waits,  as  in  their  graves  the  dead,  until 
the  day  is  done ; 

Whose  tasks  make  pitiful  the  dark,  and  dread- 
ful all  the  night, 

And  leave  her  spirit  stricken  stark  and  crushed 
at  morning  light. 


152 


MAGDALENE  PASSES 

Beneath  the  show  of  silk  and  lace  her  form  is 

spare  and  shrunk, 
And  through  the  rouge  upon  her  face  see  how 

her  cheeks  have  sunk. 
Her  lightsome  laugh   hides  not  her  thought; 

her  brow  is  scarred  with  care. 
And   her   flashing    rings   with    jewels   wrought, 

but  gild  and  grace  despair. 

Has  she  no  tears  to  weep  for  grief,  no  voice 
to  cry  with  woe, 

No  memories  panged  beyond  belief  for  joys  of 
long  ago? 

Has  she  no  tortured  dreams  to  smart,  no  an- 
guish for  her  brow, 

Has  she  no  broken  bleeding  heart,  that  you 
must  curse  her  now? 

Is  here  no  innocence  o'erthrown,  no  wrecked 

sweet  maidenhood. 
No  sense  of  loss,  like  heavy  stone,  to  make 

her  doubt  all  good? 
Are  here  no  woman's  ruined  charms,  no  dead 

and  withered  breasts? 
Are  here  no  hapless,  vacant  arms,  which  should 

lull  babes  to  rest? 


153 


MAGDALENE  PASSES 

And  what  are  you,  who  at  her  gird,  and  deem 

yourself  unstained? 
Do    you    forget    your   black,    false    word,    the 

righteous  act  disdained. 
Your  lust  of  power,  the   debtor's   tears,   cold 

hunger's  starving  cries, 
And  all  the  evil  of  your  years,  that  clamors  to 

the  skies ! 

Your  horror  is  a  veil  to  wear  and  cover  o'er 

your  deeds ; 
Your  wrongs  are  pointing  at  you  there,  though 

none  their  presence  heeds. 
Your  vileness  would  itself  deny  in  falsest  hate 

of  hers ; 
Gaze    at    yourselves    with    inward    eye,    you 
whited  sepulchers ! 

Repent !     Your  vanity  betrays,  and  wrenches 

reason  strong, 
Until  it  warps  the  truth  to  ways  which  shape 

a  right  of  wrong ; 
But  every  sin  is  still  a  sin ;  and  if  your  hands 

be  shriven, 
Her  heart  is  not  more  black  within,  and  she 

shall  be  forgiven. 


154 


MAGDALENE  PASSES 

You  ask  not  where  those  siren  lips  learned  their 
unworthy  skill, 

Nor  reck  of  how  shame's  black  eclipse  obscured 
her  purer  will. 

You  think  not  whence  fair  thoughts  like  flow- 
ers gave  room  to  passions  low; 

You  know  not  of  her  girlhood's  hours;  you  do 
not  care  to  know. 

Nay !     But  the  truth  cries  for  the  light,  and 

struggles  to  be  heard ; 
The  story  of  her  bruise  and  blight  shall  out  in 

burning  word — 
Yours  was  the  power  which  crushed  that  grace 

and  gave  it  to  despair, 
And   the   mask   of  beauty   on  that   face,  your 

hands  have  painted  there ! 

She  was  the  temple  of  your  lust,  the  altar  of 

your  greed; 
The  sacrifice  of  faith  and  trust  you  made  with 

careful  heed. 
She   was   the   price    of   pleasure's   worth,    the 

weight  against  your  gold, 
Where  love  and  truth  repine  in  dearth,  and  all 

is  bought  and  sold. 


155 


MAGDALENE  PASSES 

And  will   you  loathe  your  work  at  last,  and 

spurn  her  with  disgust? 
And   shall   your   pride   blot  out  the   past   and 

hide  her  murdered  trust? 
And  will  you  brand  upon  her  brow  the  deeds 

which  she  doth  do? 
Speak ;   will  you   dare   to  hate  her  now,  who 

weeps,  and  pardons  you? 

Nay,  no  more  scoff  to  see  her  sink,  nor  laugh 

upon  her  tears ; 
You  shall  not  hand  hate's  baneful  drink,  and 

mock  her  with  your  jeers. 
Bow  down  and  hide  your  heads  for  shame, 

and  for  your  acts  atone, 
Accept  your  guilt ;  abide  your  blame ;  nor  cast 

a  single  stone. 

And  crimson  sin  shall  balance  sin,  and  none 

shall  be  denied, 
Till  every  heart  is  soft  within  and  humbled  in 

its  pride. 
And  each  with  each  shall  equal  stand,  and  all 

be  one  in  worth, 
Till  every  hand  shall  clasp  a  hand  and  love 

shall  fill  the  earth. 


156 


PLUTUS  AND  DEMOS 


DLUTUS  hath  riches  of  untold  degree; 

He  goeth  to  bed  in  gold,  and  riseth  up ; 
And  Demos,  ah,  none  live  so  poor  as  he, 
Who  knoweth  not  if  he  shall  dine  or  sup ! 

Plutus  hath  wheaten  loaves  and  dainty  fare ; 

Plutus  hath  raiment  fine,  and  purchased  art. 
Demos  grows  old  in  youth  with  withering  care ; 

But  Demos,  though  'tis  broken,  hath  a  heart. 


157 


IN   RENUNCIATION 

£?ARTH'S  winter  hath  the  friendly  sun, 

Which  smiles  upon  the  snow; 
And  bright  on  bending  boughs  of  trees 

The  fresh  frost  blossoms  blow. 
Earth's  winter  hath  the  fields  asleep, 

Which  hear  no  freezing  wind, 
And  willing  streams  that  patient  creep 

Where  icy  fetters  bind. 

Heart's  winter  hath  the  glow  of  thought 

That  flames  to  comprehend, 
And  will  which  nobly  scorns  to  break, 

The  while  it  yields  to  bend  , 
Heart's  winter  hath  the  unruffled  soul 

Whose  labors  may  not  cease, 
And  life  still  making  toward  its  goal, 

Filled  with  the  strength  of  peace. 


158 


THE  MODERN  TYRANT 

|~|  E  doth  not  gather  armies  in  his  hand, 

With  generals  and  captains  formed  for 
fight, 
And     swooping    down     with    hosts    in     steeled 

might, 
O'erwhelm  a  nation  and  lay  waste  its  land ; 
Nor  through  wars'  treacherous  wiles  doth  he 

command 
To  slaughter  freedom's  servants  in  the  night, 
And  thus    by    stealth    break    every    sword  of 

right- 
Not  with  shed  blood  doth  he  the  truth  with- 
stand. 

His  hosts  are  shaped  of  heaped  coins  of  gold 
Dazzling  a  people  drunk  with  tricks  of  power; 
His  generals  and  captains,  shame's  true  flower, 
Are  bribes  to  silence  men  who  else  were  bold; 
Who  now  sit  calm,  complaisant,  hour  by  hour 
To  see  truth  trafficked  in,  and  honor  sold ! 


159 


THE  RULER 


|N  comradeship  his  nature  has  no  part; 

The  power  to  rule  and  scorn  is  all  his  aim. 
"Give   me  a  throne  which  crushes  mankind's 
heart 
And    let   my    glory    be   the   whole    world's 
shame !" 


160 


FRIENDSHIP 

\X/E  cannot  rise  too  high  for  this; 
We  cannot  fall  too  low. 
Or  praised  as  gods,  or  in  the  dust, 
It  follows  where  we  go. 

It  is  not  gained  through  noble  deeds 
It  shrinks  not  from  life's  hurts. 

Too  humble  'tis  for  pride  to  taint, 
Too  great  to  seek  deserts. 

Its  sacred  solace  all  accept 
Nor  ponder  on  the  cause ; 

It  is  of  things  that  ask  no  rule, 
That  stand  above   the   laws. 

Of  things  upon  no  judgment  built ; 

No  weighing  of  the  mind — 
The  hunger  of  the  human  heart 

To  treasure  still  its  kind. 


161 


FRIENDSHIP 

Amidst  the  loathing  and  the  scorn 

Some  hands  will  faithful  be; 
If  honors  thicken,  such  will  yet 

Give   love's  simplicity. 

Our  morning  sun,  it  shines  when  strength 

Keeps  failure  from  us  far; 
And  when  we  sink,  and  strive  no  more, 

It  glows,  our  evening  star. 


162 


TO  CERTAIN  WRITERS 

VOU,  who  write  for  the  past — realists,  poets, 

romancers, 
Waifs  of  a  time  that  has  fled,  or  lingers  a  mo- 
ment, to  go — 
You  pause  in  the  grey  of  this  dawn  like  a  rout 
of  poor  mountebank  dancers, 
Who  feel  themselves  out  of  place,  and  whose 
antics  none  relish  or  know. 

For  this  is  the  new  day  of  Earth,  and  the  spirit 
of  comradeship,  waking, 
Springs   from  its  centuried  bed   and  hastens, 
majestic,  to  light; 
Lo!  the  hand  of  its  strength  is  athrill  with  the 
rendering  of  things  and  the  breaking, 
As  it  crushes  the  lies  of  the  past  and  sweeps 
them  away  to  the  night. 


163 


TO  CERTAIN  WRITERS 

Here  the  fresh  heart  of  mankind,  turning  away 
from  your  heroes 
And  heroines  great  by  a  code;  with  thrones, 
and  a  world  in  the  dust — 
Turning  away  from  your  true  and  your  false,  all 
your  plebs  and  your  Neros, 
Spurns    on  them    outworn    and  rotting,    and 
laughs  at  their  hope  and  their  lust. 

Yes,  a  strong  Titan,  new  born,  your  hoary  old 
customs  disdaining — 
Your  rights  and  your  wrongs,  your  shadow- 
like virtues  and  sin, 
Heartens  itself  for  its  tasks,  the  gaining  of  things 
worth  the  gaining, 
And  with  a  fresh  song  in  its  mouth  bends  glad 
o'er  the  work  and  begins. 

What  can  you  give  of  the  dead,  that  is  not  as 
dead  in  the  giving? 
All  this  old  life  on  our  minds  weighs  down 
and  is  heavy  as  lead. 
Away  with   these  mummies  that  mock,  and  as 
you  live,  write  for  the  living! 
Or  if  you  are  weak  with  the  old,  lie  down  and 
be  still  with  your  dead. 


164 


ANNOUNCEMENT 

THE  days  are  calm.     By  this  sve  know 

What  Spring  late  whispered  to  the  snow. 
"Begone  and  let  the  wild  flowers  blow!" 

The  sun  grows  warm  upon  the  earth 
That  naked  lay  in  death  and  dearth. 
And  lo,  the  young  green  grass  in  birth ! 

A  smell  of  mold  is  in  the  air, 

Blown  from  the  hillside  plowman's  share, 

Which  doth  the  fallow  ground  prepare ; 

Loud  laugh  the  brooks;  the  soft  air  plays; 
The  silver  pussy-willows  raise 
Their  heads  along  the  winding  ways ; 

Anemone  and  violet 

Await  the  call  which  they  must  get, 

Low  hid  where  woods  and  fields  are  met; 


165 


ANNOUNCEMENT 

The  swelling  twigs  on  every  tree 
Announce  the  leaves ;  the  summer  bee 
Comes  forth  and  hums  as  he  were  free; 

The  birds  grow  glad  about  the  door; 
Each  morning  brings  another  score 
To  live  the  happy  seasons  o'er ; 

And  whoso  hears  and  sees  these  things, 
His  winter  care  away  he  flings, 
And  sings,  and  labors  while  he  sings. 


166 


COMPENSATION 

I  F  I  may  have  none  other  hope  than  this, 

That  my  life  will  not  prove  all  void  and  vain. 
But  show  ripe  fruit  and  worthy  when  its  wane 
Calls  truth  to  witness,  much  I  must  bear  to  miss ; 
I  shall  have  need  to  turn  from  thoughts  of  bliss 
And  set  myself  a  stoic  strength  to  gain ; 
Have  need  to  laugh  at  weakness,  welcome  pain, 
And  hold  the  world's  cold  frown  e'en  as  her  kiss. 


If  I  may  have  none  other  hope — Ye  deeds 
In  which  we  prove  ourselves  of  finest  mold, 
Too  great  for  praise,  too  pure  for  lust  of  fame, 
Ye  still  shall  bring  to  man,  now,  as  of  old, 
That  fair  reward,  the  greatest  of  all  meeds, 
A  lofty  joy,  commensurate  with  the  aim! 


LG 


THE  LAST  WORD 

4*\^HAT  do  you  say;  my  'life's  last  hour's  at 

end; 
The  gallows  wait'  ? — Oh,  yes  ;  it  is  so ;  yes. 
Excuse  me.    Just  that  moment  ere  you  came 
I  heard  a  small  child  cry,  out  there,  beyond 
The  walls ;  there  is  a  window  there,  I  think ; 
And  on  the  instant,  as  it  were  my  child 
In  sudden  danger,  I  forgot  myself, 
You,  these  cell  bars,  the  hour,  my  deed,  my  doom, 
And  listened  breathless,  if  the  cry  should  come 
Again,  or  I  might  think  the  toddler  safe 
In  its   father's  arms.     No  doubt  it  crossed  the 

street 
Before  a  motor  car,  and  just  escaped, 
Or  fell  and  bruised  its  forehead — little  thing! — 
Or  lost  its  penny.     Well,  its  grief  is  o'er; 
It  does  not  cry  now.     Someone  soothes  it ;  yes. 


"Shall  I  go  with  you  now?     There's  something 

'first' ; 
You'll   'read   the   warrant'?     Stop;   there   is   no 

need : — 
Unless  it's  legal. — Well  then,  very  well. 


168 


THE  LAST  WORD 

I  killed  the  man.  My  blood  was  hot  with  drink , 
I  wanted  gold ;  I  killed  him.  Two  shots ;  two ; — 
And    he  was    dead. — Was    that  a  child's    cry? 

Hark! 
Someone  please  look ! — I  struck  him.  He  is  dead  : 
And  I  must  die.     I  do  not  grudge  to  pay ; 
I  owe  it  all,  and  you  are  here  to  take. 

"Hold  but  one  moment.     Listen  :  oft,  like  now, 
I  clear  forget  these  hands,  drilled  to  do  wrong, 
And  leave  my  worthless  self  an  instant  here 
And  go  far  back,  where,  once  a  child  like  that, 
I  lived  and  pleasured.     Or  I  see  myself 
Without  an  evil  thought,  a  whistling  boy; 
Hands  in  his  pockets,  fingering  marbles,  or 
A  dime,  perhaps,  with  mother's  leave  to  spend  it 
For  what  he  wished.  And  then  I  smile  and  smile, 
And  am  no  more  myself ;  all  changed,  all  new ; 
Without  a  blot ;  without  an  evil  thought, 
Till  I  come  back — and  here's  the  thing  I  am: 
A  beast ;  a  viper ! 

"Wait — one  question  comes. 
How  did  it  happen;  how  did  it  begin? 
I  did  not  seek  it ;  no,  I  did  not  dream 
That  such  as  I  am  lived  in  all  the  world! 


169 


THE  LAST  WORD 

"Can  you,  sir,  tell  me?    Father,  you're  a  priest; 
I  do  not  pray;  but  I  will  ask  you  this: 
Can  you  explain  it? — There!    That  voice  again! 
It  cries  for  'Mama!' — Poor — well,  let  it  go; 
You're  tired  of  waiting.     Murderers'  questions ; 

pshaw ! 
But  still,  a  little  boy — how  could  it  be? 

"Yes,  read  the  warrant.    Yes.    I'm  ready  now. 
Hear  that  child  sob! — Hush,  dear! — It  stops. — 
Read  on !" 


170 


MARTYRDOM 

TO  look  for  the  truth  with  an  open  mind, 

Bravely  leaving  the  lies  behind; 
Suffering  doubt,  and,  even  worse, 
The  pangs  of  superstition's  curse — 
Or  to  hide  the  truth  'neath  falsehood's  crust, 
And  let  your  mind  corrode  in  rust, 
Fearing  to  know,  and  clinging  still 
To  the  dreams  which  work  your  nature  ill ; 
Reason  and  wisdom  rejected; — come; 
Which  is  the  greater  martyrdom! 

To  utter  your  thoughts  before  all  men ; 
Speaking  full  freely  with  voice  and  pen; 
True  to  the  truth,  while  it  brings  to  you 
But  cold  contempt  or  a  harsh  taboo — 
Or  to  lock  your  lips,  all  worth  resigned, 
While  you  make  a  grave  of  the  fruitful  mind ; 
And  fawn  on  the  knee  with  the  fawning  crowd, 
The  shallow-souled  and  the  narrow-browed; 
The   price   of  your   silence   a   slave's   ease; — 

come; 
Which  is  the  greater  martyrdom ! 


171 


MARTYRDOM 

To  act  as  you  think;  untrammeled  and  bold; 
To  do  and  to  give,  or  refuse  and  withhold; 
Enduring  scorn,  or  things  more  fell ; 
The  mob  perhaps,  or  a  prison  cell — 
Or  to  chain  your  hands  to  your  chained  lips, 
And  crouch,  your  manhood  in  eclipse ; 
For  the  whip  of  a  custom  to  come  or  go ; 
To  the  idols  of  force  your  head  bowed  low ; 
Your  payment  a  server's  existence; — come; 
Which  is  the  greater  martyrdom! 

To  live  for  the  right  though  the  whole  world 

blame; 
Taking  no  thought  of  fame  or  shame ; 
Fighting;  and  falling  if  you  must; 
Your  face   to   the  wrong  as   you  sink  in   the 

dust — 
Or  to  sell  your  heart  and  your  soul  for  peace. 
And  get  for  your  gain  a  longer  lease 
Of  a  life  which  at  most  can  be  but  a  lie; 
Bound  in  shame  till  it  rot  and  die ; 
All  of  its  potencies  palsied  ; — come  ; 
Which  is  the  greater  martyrdom ! 


172 


NOVEMBER  VIOLETS 

^MONG  the  ruins  of  the  year  they  stood; 

Blue,  delicate  blossoms  and  their  bright 

green  leaves, 
Summer    was    dead,    and    Autumn    with    her 

sheaves 
Had  laughed  and  gone  when,  smiling  in  the 

wood, 
I  saw  their  faces.     "Beauty's  hardihood !" 
I  cried,  rejoicing.    "What  strange  woe  bereaves 
Man,  that  too  oft  he  slackly  stands  and  grieves, 
Aimless,  and  murmuring,  life  hath  little  good?" 

If  we  have  power  in  us,  it  is  a  joy 

That  we  may  spring  like  blossoms  from  the 

mire; 
There  is  a  rapture  in  the  high  employ, 
Early  or  late,  through  gracious  days  or  dire. 
There  is  a  glory,  time  cannot  destroy 
In  facing  all  with  hearts  which  never  tire! 


173 


STRIKE 

^ONS  and  daughters   born  of  toil, 

Whom  the  proud,  the  rich  despoil, 
Will  you  longer  starve  and  moil, 

Driven  like  dumb  beasts? 
Comes  a  time  for  this  to  end : 
Selfish  power  shall  surely  bend ; 
No  more  mind  and  body  spend 

For  their  idle  feasts. 

You  have  begged,  and  you  have  plead 
With  swollen  powers  on  plenty  fed; 
New  slaves  were  ready  in  your  stead  :— 

They  coldly  bade  you  go. 
You  have  ceased  work  here  and  there — 
On  locked  doors  they  let  you  stare. 
Now  you  can  but  yield, — or  dare 

To  make  wrong  feel  and  know ! 


174 


STRIKE 

Let  all  service  halt.     Be  done ! 
Day  by  day,  yes  sun  by  sun, 
None  shall  labor,  no,  not  one, 

Nor  heed  them  any  more. 
Clasp  each  comrade  hand  in  hand; 
Be  as  friends  throughout  the  land ; 
Swear  an  oath  to  staunchly  stand 

Till  all  their  rule  is  o'er. 

They  have  strength,  but  so  have  you ; 
They  are  bold,  be  you,  then,  true ; 
Wrong  is  grey,  your  hope  is  new  : 

Yield  not,  and  they  yield. 
You  have  life,  and  you  have  light ; 
You  have  truth,  and  wisdom's  might ; 
On  your  side  there  stands  the  right ; 

Learn  the  right  to  wield ! 

Starve  and  smile,  nor  break  with  care 
Fail  not,  though  your  backs  be  bare, 
Nor  shelter  greet  you  anywhere — 

Victory  loves  the  brave  ! 
Let  them  crowd  their  prisons  well ; 
Let  their  tortures  taste  of  hell ; 
Triumph  shall  ring  through  the  knell, 

Though  you  find  a  grave. 


17; 


STRIKE 

Think,  think,  only  of  your  cause: 
Care  not  for  the  world's  applause ; 
Fear  no  vile  enjoining  laws ; 

Strong  be  heart  and  brain. 
Strong  until  the  masters  pale, 
Strong  until  their,  power  must  fail, 
Strong  until  their  hands  shall  quail 

'Neath  your  grand  disdain  ! 

Strike  at  forge,  at  mine,  at  mill ; 
Strike  at  loom,  at  lathe,  at  still : 
Be  the  prospect  well  or  ill, 

Stand  unitedly ! 
Power  and  arms  and  gold  defy; 
Strike  against  the  social  lie; 
Strike  until  oppression  die : 

Strike  for  liberty ! 


176 


A  DAY  OF  RECKONING 

PEACE?     Nay,  not  always!     War  for  men, 

not  peace, 
When  liberty  becomes  an  empty  sound ! 
Let  rage  rise  up,  art,  labor,  science  cease, 
And  forth,  thou  cleansing  wrath,  to  battle- 
ground ! 


177 


WIND  OF  THE  DAWN 

W' IND  of  the  morning-,  young  and  free, 

Flown   o'er  the   headlands   in  from  the 
sea, 
Winning  thy  way  through  the  dim  half  dusk. 
Sweet  with  salt  and  the  sea  flowers'  musk, 
Refreshing  Day  as  she  cometh  there, 
Cooling  her  hands  and  kissing  her  hair, 
Waking  her  world  where  it  lies  in  sleep 
With  the  tonic  breath  of  the  western  deep, 
How  didst  thou  know  that  Night  had   with- 
drawn, 

Wind  of  the  dawn; 
How  didst  thou  guess  in  thy  far  clime. 
Wind  of  the  morning  time? 

Wind  of  the  daylight,  when  the  moon 
Faltered,  to  fail  after  night's  high  noon, 
Did  Morning  beacon  with  purpling  sky, 
As   the   dark   with    its   dreams   and    its    dews 
swept  by. 


178 


WIND  OF  THE  DAWN 

Over  the  headlands  and  out  to  the  sea, 
Far  through  the  gates  of  the  mist,  past  thee? 
Then  didst  thou  heed  her,  and  hasten  on 
Back  o'er  the  road  that  pale  Night  had  gone, 
Sounding  thy  vigorous  herald  horn, 

Wind  of  the  morn? 
Was  it  thus  that  thou  earnest;  was   this  thy 
way, 

Wind  of  the  dawning  day? 


179 


THE  BELLS 

|-<AIR  shone  that  rich  day  of  our  love, 

Lavished     midst     Autumn's     bannered 
trees; 
A  wondrous  blue  spread  soft  above; 
Around  us  clung  a  scented  lingering  breeze. 
The  shimmering  air  streamed  golden  mist, 
And  from  a  mellow-tongued  bell 
There  spake  a  voice  the  while  we  clasped  and 
kissed : 
"Lo,  life's  glad  hours  are  brief;  ah,  love  ye, 
lovers,  well!" 

Anhungered  were  we;  in  our  hearts 

Love's  season  ripened  like  the  year. 
We  sought  its  fruits  with  passioned  arts; 
We  said  the  words  all  honey-sweet  to  hear. 
We  looked  the  things  love  could  not  say, 
And  felt  our  hands  his  secrets  tell  ; 
And  still  that  peal  rang  through  the  passing- 
day: 
"Lo,  life's  glad  hours  are  brief;  ah,  love  ye, 
lovers,  well  I" 


180 


THE  BELLS 

Our  fervors,  trembling,  thrilled  us  through ; 
Love's    quenchless    lamp   consumed    with 
fire. 
The  garland  trees  shone  fair  anew ; 
Life  sang,  and  played  a   rapturous  throbbing 
lyre. 
All  things  seemed  made  for  thee  and  me, 
As  love  had  leashed  them  in  a  spell, 
And  still  that  sound  told  soft  and  tenderly: 
"Lo,  life's  glad  hours  are  brief;  ah,  love  ye, 
lovers,  well !" 

We  answered  it  with  yearning  tears, 

With  clasping  hands,  with  clinging  lips, 
We  pledged,  enraptured,  future  years 
To  love's  all  sweet,  most  rare  apocalypse. 
We  rose  at  last  and  sought  the  night, 
Our  night,  below  there,  in  the  dell ; — 
Rang  through  the  sunset's  ambient,  beckoning 
light: 
"Lo,  life's  glad  hours  are  brief;  ah,  love  ye, 
lovers,  well !" 


181 


THE  ROOKS 

PHE  rooks  in  a  band  are  in  flight  through  the 

sky, 
For  they  wing  far  away  ere  the  night  dews  are 

dry; 
Confederate  still,  as  they  were  in  their  trees, 
Though   parting  to   mountains   and   meadows 
and  seas. 

Each  morning  they  flit  to  the  crest  of  a  knoll. 
And  chatter  like  wisdom  discussing  its  goal ; 
Then  far  through  the  air  their  dark  courses  are 

drawn, 
Their  wings  beating  bold  toward  the  gates  of 

the  dawn. 

At  evening  they  come  with  a  sound  like  a  wind, 

Strong  leaders  in  front,  and  tired  stragglers  be- 
hind, 

Close  gathered  from  mountain  and  moorland 
and  stream, 

Like  a  black  shining  cloud  in  the  sunset's  last 
gleam. 


THE  ROOKS 

They  flutter  to  earth,  whence  they  fly  to  the 

trees 
In  scores,  or  in  sixes,  in  twos,  or  in  threes ; 
In  peace  and  in  order  their  thousands  bestowed, 
With  room  for  each  one  in  the  green-leaved 

abode. 

These    rookeries   amply   have   sheltered   their 

young 
For  half  of  the  years  that  the  branches  have 

swung. 
They  nest  close  together,  and  find  it  still  good : 
And  who  is  more  wise  than  this  band  of  the 

wood? 

From  the  vain  strife  of  humans  turned  gladly 

away, 
I  watch  them  at  morn  and  at  dusk  of  the  day : 
Wishing  the  world  might  come  to  these  nooks 
And  see  life's  best  lesson  taught  clear  by  the 

rooks ! 


183 


GREATNESS 

QlVE  me  the  life  that  animates  the  Oak, 

Its  calm,  its  depth  of  spirit  and  its  power ; 
These,  and  its  constancy  would  I  invoke, 
Rare   things   that  pass   not   with   the   passing 

hour. 
Whether  it  be  in  time  of  leaf  and  flower, 
Or  when  all  life  endures  the  winter's  stroke, 
Nobly  it  rears  its  head ;  a  deathless  dower 
Of  grandeur  aye  invests  it  like  a  cloak. 

Give  me  these  gifts,  and  I  shall  ever  fare 
Untiring,  far  up  toward  the  longed  for  height ; 
No  more  strong,  dauntless,  in  the  morning  air, 
When  all  the  way  is  clear  with  lucid  light, 
Than  when  with  folded  pinions  I  must  bear 
Along  the  dreadful  gloomed  gulf  of  night. 


184 


WAITING 

LlKE  something  carved  in  changeless  stone, 

she  waits 
Outside  the  city's  barred  and  locked  gates. 
The  men  who  foot  the  road,  pass  idly  by, 
Nor  deign  to  turn  upon  her  form  an  eye. 

In  painted  face  and  borrowed  trappings,  fair, 
Black   falsehood   leers,   and   laughs  upon  her 

there ; 
And   murmurs   glad,   "Nay,   none   shall  know 

her,  none : 
For  all  their  gold,  well  I  my  work  have  done." 

The  generations  rise,  and  pause,  and  go; 
And  still  the  stream  of  life  flows  to  and  fro. 
Unmoving,  mighty,  still  her  figure  stands, 
With    vast,    calm    brow,    and    patient    folded 
hands. 

'Tis  freedom,  the  great  mother.    She  is  strong ; 
And  long  can  wait,  for  she  has  waited  long. 
There  is  the  light  of  knowledge  in  her  look : 
She  reads  the  future  as  an  open  book. 


185 


WAITING 

She    knows,    howe'er    their   wills    the    tyrants 

wreak, 
That  slow  their  power  from  day  to  day  grows 

weak; 
That  slow  the  people  learn  to  feel  the  lie 
Breathed  down  to  them  from  those  who  sit  on 

high. 

She  knows  power's  ruthless  hand  in  deeds  of 

ill; 

The  hand  which  robs  the  people,  and  can  kill. 
She  knows  when  men  at  last  shall  bid  it  pause : 
She  knows  when  they  shall  break  the  lawless 
laws. 

Sometime,  or  near  or  far,  the  gates  within, 

A  cry  shall  rise  of  dissolution's  din ; 

And  those  who  scorn  her  now,  will  come  and 

plead : 
"We  knew  thee  not ;  thou  art  our  leader.  Lead  !" 

Then  that  grand  shape  shall  move ;  and  when 

the  last 
The  slave's  linked  chains  from  off  his  arms  has 

cast, 
She  shall  be  seen  there  at  the  leader's  post, 
Before  the  throng,  the  head  of  all  the  host. 


186 


WAITING 

Until  that  hour  she  looks,  and  keeps  her  peace. 
While  all  around  the  turmoil  doth  not  cease, 
She  feels  nor  passion  nor  the  touch  of  hate : 
Her  work  inscribed  upon  the  rolls  of  fate. 


187 


THE  PROMISE 

Y  OUR  dreams  of  life  shall  not  be  fraught 

In  days  to  be,  as  now,  with  fear  and  care, 
But  faith  and  noble  trust  shall  live  in  thought, 
A'nd  make  your  musings  fair. 

The  song  of  life  then  none  shall  make 

Of   doubts,    of   hunger's   pangs,    or    hapless 
groans, 
But  from  fair  hope  shall  human  music  wake. 
And  joy  shall  thrill  its  tones. 

The  word  of  life  shall  not  be  said 

In  black  distrust,  in  scorn,  in  craft,  or  guile. 
But  out  of  hearts  on  love's  own  plenty  fed, 
Your  lips  shall  speak,  and  smile. 

Your  days  of  life  shall  not  be  spent 

In  loathed,  servile  tasks,  in  pinched  distress, 
But  in  glad  work,  glad  ease,  and  calm  content, 
And  wholesome  happiness. 


188 


THE  UNSPOKEN 

£AST  diamonds  in  a  crucible 

Alive  with  fire,  and  seek  to  cull 
Their  rainbow  flashes  beautiful. 

Test  roses  in  their  purity : 
Submit  them  to  some  chemistry; 
Try  if  they  yield  their  grace  to  thee. 

Loose  the  strings,  and  break  the  viol 
Which  knows  to  make  e'en  sorrow  smile, 
If  music's  self  thou  wouldst  beguile. 

When  roses  yield  what  thou  hast  sought, 
When  the  jewel's  ray  is  caught, 
When  the  charm  of  sound  is  wrought, 

Thou  shalt  come,  and  with  thine  art 
Force  the  portals  of  the  heart, 
And  bid  it  all  it  holds,  impart; 

Then,  at  last,  shall  speech  reveal 
Wonders  silence  now  doth  seal : 
Things  we  only  breathe  and  feel. 


189 


HUMANHOOD 

SOMETIMES,    when    I    have   gazed   wher* 

sunsets  burned, 
Or  listened  while  rich  music  thrilled  the  air, 
The  rapture  of  the  hour  has  made  me  dare 
To  dream  the  future  world;  and  I  have  yearned 
To  live  when  human  love  shall  not  be  spurned 
In  all  the  earth,  when  mankind  everywhere 
Shall  live  in  light,  its  deeds  most  clean  and  fair, 
Its  soul  erect,  the  whole  of  truth  discerned. 

But  when  I  look,  and  see  my  fellow  men 
Groping  in  darkness  toward  the  perfect  day, 
Fighting  the  tiger  in  themselves,  and  crime, 
The   thought   that   I   could   leave   them  fades 

away, 
And  in  my  heart  I  clasp  this  truth  again  : 
To  love,  to  strive,  to  suffer,  is  sublime! 


190 


COMRAJDES 

vJVER  the  parting  oceans, 
O'er  the  dividing  lands, 
We  call  to  yon,  our  brothers; 

We  stretch  to  you  comrade  hands. 

Why  should  we  strive  for  bondage? 

Or  war  for  the  warring  kings? 
If  we  fight,  let  us  fight  for  friendship, 

And  not  for  the  meaner  things. 

Enough  of  the  schemes  of  empire ; 

Enough  of  the  lusts  of  trade. 
Eye  unto  eye,  our  fellows, 

And  let  a  new  pact  be  made ! 

The  lore  of  the  ages  tells  it: 
All  wisdom's  voices  call, — 

"Humans,  ye  stand,  together; 
And,  each  against  each,  ye  fall !" 

191 


COMRADES 

We  live  united  in  sorrow 

Beneath  the  powers  that  destroy ; 
Let  us  come  close  together, 

And  live  united  in  joy. 

Enough  of  the  bounds  and  borders; 

Nay,  no  life  stands  alone. 
Hear,  men  of  the  farthest  nation : — 

We  are  made  of  one  flesh  and  bone. 

Away  with  the  fear  that  parts  us; 

Away  with  our  threatening  might; 
Shout  good  speed  to  us,  calling. 

Men  of  all  earth,  unite ! 

The  world  we  have  made  awaits  us 
With  all  of  its  goodly  gains : 

We  have  nothing  to  break  but  bondage, 
We  have  nothing  to  lose  but  chains. 

Hope  be  with  us  forever, 

And  strength,  as  the  sun  above. 

The  power  of  our  hands  be  courage, 
The  pulse  of  our  hearts  be  love. 


192 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00034330670 


